


Murmurations: Dennis & Mac Die

by woollen_pharaohs



Series: Murmurations [1]
Category: Fargo (TV), It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Dennis is very offensive, Drug Addiction, F/F, Gen, Gun Violence, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Original Character(s), Post 12x10, Rating will change, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Tags will be added as chapters progress, Unreliable Narrator, Vampire AU, bad eating habits/anorexia, canon typical assholery, except not really because it's a, filler/fix it, in which the gang become vampires, main plot and side stories, the slowest of slow burns, there's a lot going on and it gets pretty gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 73,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: Part 1(Previously called Bodies Lie And Tend To Break)Dennis is beyond done with the gang thanks to Mac blowing up his car, so he goes up to North Dakota to live a new life. The life he deserves. A loving wife, a beautiful child, and the world at his fingertips. That means actuallyworkingand living in the suburbs and being quietly domestic, which is of course everything Dennis hates. So he does what he does best, he schemes. Only this time he doesn't have the gang to help him when he falls - at least, not completely.(So I guess this is a Vampire AU Crossover that nobody asked for? Note thatyou don't have to have watched Fargo to understand what's happening. Although it's highly recommended because Fargo is an A+ show and stars both Glenn and Rob!)





	1. Blowing things out of proportion

**Author's Note:**

> Oh jeez, what have I done?
> 
> Basically this is leaning more on the side of iasip than Fargo, so those of you who haven't seen glennis' character in Fargo s1, you're going to be okay. Whereas Fargo watchers, well, just know that everyone's delusional and we'll leave it at that. You can just wait and see how the vampirism fits into all this. 
> 
> (Timeline wise, it doesn't work at all, so i'm ignoring that.) This fic starts post s12e10 so around March 2017. (Eleven years after the real Don Chumph's death. Shhh). 
> 
> Lastly, I'm quite far ahead in terms of what i've written chapter wise. I'm going to do a chapter dump at first so readers know what they're getting in to, then i'm going to post proceeding chapters every 3 or 4 days, depending on their length i think. Some chapters are short, some are much longer. And i'll continue with that until i've caught up to what i've written already. 
> 
> Alright, that's about all i want to say. Go on and get into it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratings are as follows:  
> Chapters 1-13 rated T  
> Chapters 14-21 rated M  
> Chapters 22+ rated E permanently. Not every chapter after 22 will classify as E but after that point, things do get... bloody.  
> Specific warnings are above each chapter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He leaves Paddy’s with his friend’s eyes gazing at the darkened door. He takes his time walking away. Mac’s going to come running out after him. He keeps walking so Mac can catch up to him.  Paddy’s falls back one block, then another, then another. The car keys in his pocket weigh down. At the apartment he gets out a duffle. Shoves in a few changes of clothes of his own, of Mac’s too. Cologne, toothbrush and paste. Footsteps go down the hall, a shiver down his spine.

He leaves with his fist tight around the straps.

He walks back the way he came. Looks down every alley, every nook of every shop front. Mac gets lost sometimes. Paddy’s block emerges. His car in sight. Lonesome on the quiet road. He throws his bag in, leaves his wallet and phone in the glove box. He sits in the seat, keys in the ignition. He recalls holding Brian Jr. in his arms. Small weight, warm, a miniature smile like his own. He’s heard mothers say they fall in love the moment they hold their newborn in their arms.

This is his chance to be worthy. A duty to another life, a chance to love, and be loved.

Except there’s still the mother of his child.

Ugly, no-nonsense Mandy.

It was clear that Mandy didn’t want to bang Frank but at some point down the line Mandy’s going to want to sleep with Dennis, naturally, and he doesn’t want a repeat of it even if he was offered five grand. Especially if Mandy’s going to have some idea that she would like to increase her spawn count. One is more than Dennis thought he was ever going to have and he would like to keep it that way. Luckily for him, Mandy still seems to believe that he and Mac are actually dating, so it only makes sense to continue with that cover. It’s a small amount of relief, admittedly. Dennis can’t imagine embarking on a new life in North Dakota without at least one of the gang members keeping him sane.

He leaves the keys in the ignition. Mac probably hasn’t even left the bar. Dennis pictures Mac laying on his arms on the counter crying his eyes out, completely and utterly helpless without Dennis even for half an hour. He goes around the back. If he can enter without anyone noticing him, he can get Mac to come with him without the rest of the gang pleading him to come along too.

He pushes the back door open. The gang have left the lights off in honour of his impromptu exit. He stays very still. Waits until his eyes adapt to the darkness and he can make out the shape of Mac weeping on the counter. A disquiet energy comes over him. Paddy’s unbearably empty and dark. A strange noise rifles through the air, like a plane flying too low, followed shortly by a loud crushing noise. Dennis steps out into the middle of the bar and looks at the dirty windows facing the road. Bright orange engulfs the shape of the panes. Joyous whooping.

Dennis cracks the front door open ajar. The scent of fuel and smoke. He looks down the street and sees his friends on the corner, jumping and pointing and laughing without him. His range rover engulfed in flames.


	2. Aliases

It’s a 21 hour drive from Philadelphia to Fargo. That’s why he’d wanted to fly. Dennis’ last copy of Frank’s bank card melted in the rubble of his range rover, along with his own bank card, his ID and his plan B to get to Mandy and Brian Jr, had there not been a flight available to North Dakota. He’d only packed a small bag full of his own clothes but there’s no way he’s going to go back to the apartment now. If Mac thinks he can blow up everything Dennis needs in order to get on with his new life, then Mac can watch the very fire he created as Dennis leaves him in the rubble. Let his ex-friend taste ash in his mouth. A fitting prize for sabotaging any chances of Mac being able to tag along for the ride with Dennis. Mac will never have that privilege again.

He’s done asking for help from people who know him.

He enters a cab as Larry Holden, a handsome property investor en route to the Arby’s where he’d banged Mandy in the ladies bathroom.

“Arby’s on Fargo,” The cab driver repeats incorrectly as he punches the words into the GPS, “Is that Street or Boulevard?”

“ _In_ Fargo, actually. North Dakota.”

He gets about as far as he could have walked with the same amount of absent money in his pocket.

A warmer night than most. He walks along until he meets the highway, refusing the calls of crack heads offering sweetness and a bed to sleep on. He turns his thumb up and refuses lifts from bald truckies and crusty Mexicans who don’t speak a lick of the language, no matter how hot their daughters are. He stumbles down an overpass and sleeps next to an old man against warm trash.

“I miss old black guy,” Mac had said to him.

“You mean old guy.”

“No I mean old black guy.”

“Well I don’t,” Dennis had told Mac as he laid on Dee’s bed, “You only miss him because he didn’t mind when you rolled into him with your morning wood.”

Mac had smiled, “Yeah, he was always good about it wasn’t he?”

In the foggy morning the Delaware River shines like wax. Dennis hikes the rocks up the slope of the overpass, his back as sore as the angled surface beneath his shoes. A blue commodore pulls up next to him when the sun glows orange through the teeth of the city skyline. A lean elderly woman with silvery hair and a double chin made out of drooping skin hangs her long face out of the window.

“Where’re you headed, deary?”

His voice sounds as cracked and parched as her skin, “I’m headed to Fargo, ma’am.”

“WHERE?”

“Fargo, ma’am.”

“WHERE?”

“PITTSBURGH!”

“Pittsburgh did you say dear? I’m passing through.”

He gets in the passenger seat as Theodore Harrington. His terrible British accent falls on near deaf ears but she tells him to go on, she likes hearing stories. She drives 30 miles under the speed limit and smokes so much that the Theodore thinks the greyness about her can be attributed to the smog she generates.

In Pittsburgh he walks through a McDonalds drive thru kicking the ground for dropped coins. He finds enough to give Mac a call. He buys a cheeseburger less pickles instead, and eats it in the bathroom. It folds like air in his mouth, leaving him feeling as empty as he had felt before. He has a drink from the tap. The sink water smells of steel and soap, ten times cleaner than the bathroom smells in Paddy’s, but he misses it. Rejects the sanitised McDonalds bathroom because it makes him miss home.

The McDonalds don’t let him sleep on their sofa seats. Typical of a Mcdonald. He opts against sleeping on the ground on a pile of rags, a ghost limb of the Ass Pounder 4000 shimmering behind him. He finds a Denny’s and sleeps in a corner booth until a crack addict slides up next to him. Tucks a quart in his jeans pocket in exchange for a kiss unmolested by cold sores. She reminds him of his cousin the way her saliva spills from her mouth and he vomits on the table. Yellow cheese floats like small round heads of lego men.

The crack whore drives Stephen Jones up to Cleveland in her purple van. Thinks she’s going to make Stephen part of her new night show. Likes the look of his sandy hair and chiselled jaw and thinks her new lighting set up won’t make Stephen look so god damned pale. Stephen Jones kicks the sliding door open with both feet and leaps out onto the grassy shoulder. When Dennis Reynolds stops rolling through the tall grass and weeds he uses the broken end of a stick to cut through the duct tape around his ankles.

A stay dog walks with him towards Chicago. Dennis hates dogs. He hates Mac more for making him do this. He hates that he wasn’t able to fly straight to Mandy. He hates that he isn’t with his son but also hates that as soon as he gets there, he’s going to have to figure out what to do for money and quick because he hasn’t got any. He was anticipating Frank cancelling his credit card once he found out Dennis wasn’t going to come back to Philadelphia, but on that plan Dennis had finances to start with. He hates that Mac had the audacity to blow up the range rover and ruin everything. He’ll show Mac. He’ll show everyone how successful he’s going to be in North Dakota he’ll rub it in their faces and let them have none of it.

The longer the walk, the more Dennis detests the stinky dog and doesn’t care when it gets distracted by a rabbit in the field. The dog leaves him alone and he walks on, hugging his thin cardigan through the early morning. Ash plumes on the horizon. Grey towers, a burnt road made of charcoal and dry dirt rolls out like it’s meant to be the red carpet. He accepts a lift from a fat truckie who takes him passed Chicago to Wisconsin. Stops at a gas station when the fuel’s halfway and Dennis stumbles into the bathroom. His face gaunt and angled. Pale. He looks good. Smells bad though. He blames it on the dog.

Dennis comes out again and the truckie’s gone. He walks along the 94 until a Volvo 7 seater rolls up next to him. The family of six lets Hal Gerriwood sit squash in the middle. Mom and Dad up front. Two older girls in the backward back seats, their brown hair in flurries over the suitcases wedged between seats. A girl of 4 and a girl of 7 squawk beside Hal. Asks him questions. Hal’s an ex-marine. Kicked out of his own home when he arrived back from duty to find his girlfriend banging two other dudes at the same time. The small girls ask him what banging means. The older girls turn around. Big brown eyes that remind him of a pair of round slanted he’s used to.

Mom takes pity on him. The Dad sings songs to his kids until they fall asleep. Drives persistently through the night time. The city falls out. Country hillsides rise and sweep away. Orange skeletons creep in slow rolls uphill, barge down slopes in bull roars. The Dad drives them through Minneapolis all the way up to Fargo, North Dakota. Non-stop. He powers through, saves on hotels.

Hal Gerriwood hopes Mac is looking for Dennis. Wants Mac to be sleepless over Dennis’ safety. Wonders if the police have looked into the car wreckage, found the ID, suspected it was murder. Hal Gerriwood hopes that Mac thinks he’s killed Dennis. Wonders if Mac feels guilty about what he’d done.

Morning breaks and imparts the breath of life on the children around him. They begin to chirp, splinter his waxy ears. For breakfast he eats their packets of chips and drinks their juice boxes and he refuses to eat an apple offered by the eldest. Cored and all, the skin remains. A pang sends to his heart and Hal Gerriwood wonders if Dennis is missed.

Ceaseless energy leaves Hal Gerriwood behind at the Fargo airport, as requested.

Dennis hasn’t showered in days. They don’t let Dennis into the terminal because of how he looks and smells. A guard in the staff entry hallway tells Brian Lefeve that the Arby’s has moved down the street as he wrangles Brian, an actual pilot, out of a prohibited zone. He walks down the block. The smell of a baths hop lifts in the brittle breeze. He hugs the coat around him, a burly fake furred thing betrothed to him by the concerned Mom. Brian LeFeve berates Dennis for leaving his black trench coat in the wardrobe back in Philly.

The Arby’s stands glistening new in the snow. Warm air flushes on his cheeks as he enters. Takes a window cold seat, fog smearing up the glass. The Mom had left a compact mirror in the pocket of her coat. A mottled foundation sponge housed beneath the mirror, dried out and old scented. A tattered coin purse in the other pocket with enough to buy him a meal. It takes him no time to eat, though spaghetti keeps slipping off a shaking fork.

He sits back to observe the staff after he’s scoured his plate for the last crumbs. The midget of a man who had served him circulates around the dining area wiping a cloth over the tables. Finishes one table, folds the cloth over, wipes another, turns the cloth inside out and folds and cleans and turns. Yellow lights flash through the Arby’s windows, a taxi outside slows down in front of a snow covered traffic signal. Brian Lefeve looks back at the counter. There’s a young woman standing dutifully behind register number 1. One hand wrapped around the side of the machine. Eyes glazed and reflective of the spinning yellow until the taxi moves on down toward the airport.

There doesn’t appear to be anyone else here. Or perhaps Mandy is in the back office, out of sight. Watching him from the cameras and laughing at his pitiful appearance. Well, Brian Lefeve is going to find her and Dennis is going to stay in her house. He’s going to use her computer to change his address, have the bank send him a new card. Use what’s left in his account to buy a phone because he imagines he’s going to need one if he’s going to start making some money and get out of her place. Not out of courtesy. If Dennis had a choice, and had Frank’s card with him still, he wouldn’t step a foot into her lousy home except to pick up Brian Jr. for a day of fun with his Dad. But no. Mac had to blow that up right under his nose didn’t he? That asshole. No, Mandy is going to have to put up with him for a little while until he can set himself up here in North Dakota. There’s bars, right? Any place would be happy to have a bartender as handsome as Dennis. It’s going to be easy.

Brian grabs a napkin and wipes his face. Uses the side of the metal napkin container to check out his angled appearance. No crumbs around his mouth. Could use some lip balm and a bit of concealer. He stands up, rolls his shoulders, back straight. Goes for the brunette who is just attractive enough for his natural charm to easily affect her.

“Hey there sweetie, if I’d known there was someone as beautiful as you on my layover I’d have jumped at the opportunity every time it was offered just so I could look at you one more time.”

The waitress’ eyes focus on Dennis dressed in an oversized fur coat pretending to be Brian Lefeve, a pilot, and says, “Ya think you’re the first flier to come in and try to flirt with me for a free meal?”

Brian smiles at her, “I’m not a passenger baby, I’m a pilot.”

“Ya don’t look like no pilot,” She says, fingers drumming along the side of the register.

“Have you ever been in the staff lounge? I’ll have you believe it’s more glamorous than first class. Not as glamorous as you.”

“Bullshit,” she replies, “My cousin Amanda’s an air hostess and she say the staff quarters are four by fours with bunk beds stacked to the roof and one toilet to 15 women. Nothin’ glamorous about pissin’ in the shower ‘cause the toilet’s blocked up.”

Brian perseveres, “Wha-no, that’s the women’s. Do I look like – the pilot’s lounge is far – you know what, why am I even bothering? You’re too ugly to bang. Just tell me where Mandy is.”

“Who’s Mandy?”

“She works here.”

“Don’t have no Mandy working here.”

Brian curls his fist against the counter, “Look, she works here. She’s about the same height as you, longer hair. She’s a bit fatter than you are. Pretty plain looking. Ring a bell?”

The waitress folds her arms and calls out a name in that horrible Minnesotan accent. The office door swings open and an older lady in a uniform comes out. Her name tag reads ‘Doris’.

“Doris this guest is askin’ for someone called Mandy.”

The ugly old waitress looks at Brian, “Sir, if you’re going to have a conversation with my staff you’re going to have to buy something.”

“I JUST ATE!” Brian says exasperated, pointing at the table he just sat at.

“Mmhmm,” She eyes him. “Why’re ya looking for Mandy?”

Brian rolls his eyes, “She has something of mine.”

“I knew he was no pilot when I saw him,” Brian hears the younger waitress whisper to her boss, “If he ain’t a hobo he’s a criminal no less.”

“I’m not homeless,” Brian says. “I just need to find Mandy…. I left her with something.”

“Don’t know if it’s gonna be around still since we done cleaned out her locker.”

“WHAT.”

The old ugly waitress glares at him, “She done quit working her when she had her baby couple years back. Course that’s was when we were in the airport terminal. Hannah you won’t be working with us til after we relocated.”

Brian bangs his fist against the counter, startling no one except the small boy cleaning the tables. “Damn it! Do you know where she works now?!”

The old ugly waitress blinks at him, “Don’t have a clue darlin’. Even if I did, I won’t be telling private information out to guests.”

“Look lady,” Brian spits, “It took me over a damned week to get up to this shit hole and now you’re telling me Mandy doesn’t even work here anymore?”

The older waitress folds her arms and says, “I don’t appreciate your tone there sir.”

Brian’s demeanour darkens, and if his fur coat was a living thing, the hairs would be raised and prickling, “ _I_ don’t appreciate _you_ not telling me where Mandy is when I have given up my _whole_ _life_ to be with her once I found out I had a son.”

Brian holds his breath, expecting something like, _that’s so romantic!_ Or, _you have a son? I bet he’s cute._

“I don’t care if ya know Mandy or not, ya can’t come into my place of business and speak to me or my staff in this way.”

“You’re hiding Mandy from me aren’t you? I KNOW she’s back there. I’m going to sit here until you send her out.”

“O no ya won’t!”

“Oh YES I will. I’m a PILOT and I’m TIRED. Go on, call her up and get her over here. I’m waiting.”

“I can’t do that sir.”

Brian chews his lips, wishing he was on a boat or a plane mid-flight so that the implication is stronger.

The older waitress pulls the younger one further back behind the counter as she speaks, “Ya know what I can do for ya sir? I am gonna call her-”

“Now we’re talking.”

“-I’ll let her know that a total psycho is after her, and I’ll do that shortly after I call the police if ya don’t leave the premises right now.”

Brian puts up his hands, “Woah I mean, just, hang on a second. I think you ladies are getting the wrong idea here.”

He starts to shrug off his coat but the moment it slips off his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of his body odour is unleashed on the two women. They fall back reeling, trying to cover their noses and mouths with their hands and Brian watches the older woman rush into the office. Brian shrugs his coat back on and walks out with his dignity still intact. Then walks around the side of the building and hides in the corral of the Arby’s, having nowhere else to go.


	3. Erstwhile, Philadelphia

Mac calls Dennis six times before he remembers that Dennis had told them the night before that he was leaving for good.

He calls eleven more times.

Bored, he sits on the couch and contemplates going to find Cricket for word on where he can buy a second rocket but he’s worried about what he’s going to have to use to pay for it next. Bananas and a double pack of beer barely seemed to satisfy the priest and he’d made a joke about Mac having to bone him if he was going to be able to get more ammunition. Even for 5 large Mac will never ever put his dick anywhere near that hobo. Imagine how many diseases he must have.

He might do it for six though.


	4. Fargo

Brian doesn’t think the old bitch even called the police. That lying bitch. He snuggles up against the wall, the hot exhaust pipe firing warmth down the tube. He hugs it until he smells the fur burning and melting and he rotates his body like a chunk of meat on a spit. That’s all he was to those waitresses. A chunk of hot meat being rolled around in the snow. Not an ounce of respect. The whole time he’s out in the coral he doesn’t hear a single siren. Probably didn’t believe her story. Brian Lefeve, a respectable pilot accosting staff at Arby’s. Hardly.

His next cause of action isn’t much of a plan but it’s something. All he has to do is wait until someone comes out and he can sneak in the back door and have a look through their records to find Mandy’s contact details. Only his legs are so stiff and cold that when the midget boy does wander outside with hot trash slung over his shoulder, Dennis is only able to shuffle over two steps before toppling over.

The boy tosses the trash in the dumpster and when he turns around, he shrieks, high pitched, at the sight of a brown animal with mangled fur sprawled out on the ground.

“Stop… stop screaming!” Brian Lefeve, the esteemed pilot says, taking command of his quavering voice.

Brian sits up and looks up into the bug eyes of this kid, a miniature Frank with an afro shaped into a cylinder. The kid points at him and gasps.

“You’re the pilot from before!”

Brian clears his throat and wobbles as he stands up, “Yep.”

This kid’ll have keys. He’ll just have to push him over, won’t even have to knock him out, and he can grab the keys and get on with finding the even dumber bitch he banged two years ago.

“Ya were looking for Mandy weren’t ya?” The kid says.

Brian purses his lips, “What do you know about her?”

“I know what she sounds like when she comes,” He says with a smirk, “Won’t never forget the video that went around. Ripped it off the surveillance camera from when ya went to town on her in the stock room. After that we got to have keys to lock up for stock control and what not.”

“Video huh? What angle was it?”

“Top down.”

Brian shivers out in the cold, “Not bad. Second best angle.”

“Hated ya for a while mister since I had a crush on her and all but seein’ ya now in that drab lady’s coat I got nothin’ to be jealous of.”

Brian pulls at his collar, “It was a gift.”

The kid looks up at him, “Looks expensive.”

Brian grimaces. The kid is so far from him but seems so close. Looks like the kind of kid who would get along well with Frank and Charlie too. Probably eats from the trash on the regular.

“Tell ya what, I’ll tell ya where Mandy is now if ya give me that coat.”

“This?” Brian shoves his hands in his pockets, “How about you tell me where Mandy is and I trade you this vintage compact mirror?”

“I want the coat.”

“How about some small change?”

“I have a job mister. Give me the coat or you can fly all over in your fancy jet and never find her.”

Brian sighs, “Fine,” and he takes off the coat.

The boy takes it and shrugs it on. He looks like a cub, a brown fuzzy fur ball. Brian thinks it’s funny but Dennis is cold and hungry again and tired and hates the entire world. He could kick this boy if he doesn’t get some answers.

“Last I heard she moved to Bemidji. Told Doris she had family there. A sister I think. I don’t know her exact address on account of a restraining order against me but I know the closest thing I could find was a community hall or a woman’s shelter of the like, close to her home.”

“Well thanks but where the shit is Bemidji?”

“’Bout 100 miles North East from here.”

“Wha-well that’s just, that’s just _great_ isn’t it you trash beaver,” Brian says, hugging his cardigan tight over himself, “Give my coat back you piece of shit.”

“No.”

Brian Lefeve is over being told ‘no,’ today.

Brian Lefeve is also undertrained and probably deserves getting kicked in the shin by the midget when he can’t land a swing on the dirty fluffball.


	5. Erstwhile

His stomach grumbles so loud he’s sure the neighbours would have heard it. He wonders when Dennis is going to get back already and go and buy the groceries for them like he normally does. The letters outside the door keep piling up too. They’re going from white to yellow to red but it’s fine if he doesn’t open them right? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

Turns out Cricket doesn’t have 6k. He has an empty 6 pack which he threw at Mac bottle by bottle when he’d made the offer. All Mac wanted was something to offer Dennis when he comes back. He feels bad about firing the only rocket, but he never did tell Dennis that the ammunition came in the mail so when he does get a replacement, it’ll be the one and only rocket they ever had. No one would be the wiser. And Dennis will be back and he’ll hug Mac and they can fall asleep next to each other in bed like old times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter dump!   
> Please let me know what you think of the story so far :D


	6. Bemidji

It’s harder to get to Bemidji from Fargo than it was to get to Fargo from Philadelphia. People don’t head up that way too frequently. Dennis leaves his failed persona in the back corral of the Arby’s in Fargo. He manages to get a lift through the Detroit Lakes. Funny how strangers are often nicer than his own friends. Dennis is coming to the conclusion that the more people think they know about him, the worse they treat him. And that has to change. Once he finds Mandy, once he finds Brian, he’s going to commit to being a fresh Dennis. He’s going to be the father he never got. He’s going to be supportive to Mandy. He’s going to maybe even come to love her, if he can look over her ugliness. He’s going to be so good that people around him will have no choice but to treat him accordingly. Mac is going to hate him for it and Dennis is going to love it.  

It’s getting far too cold for him to wander the streets until he can get a lift like he could down south. He feels a sickness coming on too. A runny nose, a cough. He won’t stop shivering. He hangs around the motel strips until a couple pick him up on their way to the Leech Lake Reservation for a hiking holiday. As Brady Lambert he isn’t as disgusted as Dennis is about the idea of the couple going on a vacation in the middle of winter. Brady thinks it’s romantic. When they stop at the Bemidji Community Centre, the couple ask him if he’d like to join them on their hike. A third wheeler with benefits. Brady Lambert might have said yes if the boyfriend didn’t look like the spitting image of Mac only twenty years younger. Muscles bursting through his hiking gear. They think he’s down for a three way but it’s too weird because Brady Lambert doesn’t hate the boyfriend as much as Dennis hates Mac.

At the community centre, he enquires about Mandy’s lost mail and is referred to the locked bag and delivery in the adjacent building. The scrawny man there asks for ID. Dennis throws up in the waste bin. Shivering and shaking and he feels like he’s dying. The man comes around from his desk and rubs Dennis’ back. Drapes a woollen blanket over him. Snow dusts onto the polished floorboards.

“How are ya? Need to go to the hospital?” The man asks him, offering him a bottle of water.

Dennis shakes his head, “It’s passing. We’ve been sick all week I’ll tell ya. First the wife, then our kid, he’s only two ya know.”

The man offers a sympathetic smile, “Always hard to shake it this time of year.” He pauses. “Ya said your wife’s name was Mandy?”

“Mmhmm,” Dennis says, working on his Minnesotan accent, “My son’s waiting on a special letter. O, I know it’s going to make him feel a whole lot better once he gets it. It’s under my wife’s name. Mandy, ya. Check by her first name, though, not sure if it’s under her maiden name or not.”

The man nods and goes behind his desk to look through the pile of undelivered mail. “Gets sent out only when the snow is still. Where’d ya say ya were from?”

Dennis sips the bottle of water, “O I’m from here.”

“I never seen ya before I have to say.”

“I’m sick more than half the time,” Dennis smiles sheepishly.

“Well, you’ve braved the weather for your son, that’s a lovely thing. Ah, here’s a Mandy.”

He holds up a letter to show.

“That the only one?” Dennis says, getting up from the chair to have a look.

The man looks through the rest of the pile, “Think so… Looks like a bill to me, ya sure it ain’t in your kid’s name?”

“That’d be it,” Dennis takes the letter, “You know kids, the strangest things make them smile.”

He thanks the man and leaves in a hurry before the man can ask him to pay. Takes the water bottle with him and walks down the snowy road with feet like ice blocks until he gets to a diner on the edge of town. He heads straight to the bathroom. Washes his face in the sink there. His looks pale and pallid. More chiselled than normal. His eyes a little dark underneath but in an attractive way. He yawns as he walks back out into the diner.

“You alright there kid?” The guy behind the counter asks him, pushing a mug of steaming black coffee toward him along the surface.

Dennis looks at the coffee. He swallows before taking on the accent of the area, “I don’t have any money.”

“That’s alright. Take a seat. Your first meal’s on the house.”

Dennis shivers. He pulls himself up on the stool and wraps his hands around the mug. It burns him but he keeps hold. The guy whips up a sandwich and Dennis scoffs it down along with the bad tasting coffee. On the wall behind the counter, old photos are hung of the diner worker in a police uniform. There’s one of him, much younger than the man is now, standing next to another man even taller than him, also dressed in a police uniform.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” The man asks him.

Dennis grips the small plate that the sandwich was on, “You’re a policeman?”

The man straightens, “Was. Retired, now. My daughter, Molly, she’s taken over. Are you in trouble kid?”

Dennis grimaces. He takes out the letter from his pocket and folds it out on the counter. He points at Mandy’s address on the front.

“Do you know where this is?”

The tall man stoops over and squints at the writing, “Why do you want to know son?”

Dennis’ voice cracks, “Does it matter? I just want to know where she is.”

The man eyes him and Dennis can feel the man looking at the blanket he has wrapped around his shoulders, “You’re not from around here are ya kid?”

Dennis snatches the letter and shoves it in his pocket. His mouth tastes like the dry sandwich and he pushes on out of the diner with the ex-cop’s eyes on him. He bustles down the street, wrapping his blanket around him tightly though it doesn’t do much to stop the cold like the coat had. He passes a dull looking life insurance shop, a fitness gym and a hairdressers. Terrible sounds of a novice player wafts down from a music shop up ahead, a noise which stops when a figure exits the store. Her thick brown hair knots in the force of the wind and she wrangles with strapping a small child in the back seat of her car.

Everything is white but the closer he gets he can match her voice to the sight of her hair.

“MANDY!” Dennis bellows.

He starts to run toward her.

Her head pops out above the door and she looks around.

“MANDY!”

“Dennis?”


	7. Erstwhile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters out today since ch7 is quite short. :)

He calls Dennis every day. All Dennis has to do is answer. He wishes he could call Mandy too, but she only left her number with Dennis. Did Dennis not think it was appropriate to pass the information on to Mac? He’s Dennis’ best friend, isn’t he? Best friends share everything with each other.

Sometimes he finds himself forgetting that Dennis isn’t back yet. He’ll have an idea, come bounding into Paddy’s and Dee will ignore him, Frank will ignore him, and, well, Charlie is there but Dennis isn’t. And it’s like they don’t care.

“I don’t give a shit where he is,” Dee says.

“He’ll be back,” Frank agrees.

A week passes and Dennis hasn’t come back yet. Their new old couch is no longer comfortable to sleep on. it’s hard and harder to find a clean spot of leather to press his face against that doesn’t already smell more like tears than jizz.

He hates coming home to an empty apartment. The couch is the worst, but he can’t bring himself to sleep in Dennis’ bed. In their bed. It may be almost identical to the previous bed, but it doesn’t have the decades old indents and Dennis’ smell infused into the mattress. Two weeks after Dennis had left, he tries to lie down on it but it smells faintly of Mandy’s perfume. When he sits up he finds one of Brian Jr.’s tiny socks on the floor by the foot of the bed.

His heart aches.

He calls Dennis eight more times. He’s gone. He’s really gone.


	8. $43,613, just enough for a dream.

His whole body feels hot. Clammy. Steam wafts off the surface of the soapy water. Catchments of giggles pop as water splashes. He looks up at the ceiling. Brightly coloured tiles fitted beneath a dome. Lights shaped like squashed spheres with two spikes on opposite side. Warm glows project stories through colour. Naked women bathe, tits hard like the ends of chandeliers and men overweight and moustached. No, no. No men. Just things he likes. Beautiful women lounging and laughing and ready for him.

The bright colours slip away to white. Glossy and matte finishes. The slippery floor, the hard wall. Windows looking on to a snow covered flat. Endless. Pure white drips away to off creams, muted greys. His extremities burn like he’s been rolling in snow and thrown in a hot bath. Bits of aluminium foil crumple around his shoulders. A blanket made for meat. He rolls his head to one side. A formless nurse shuffles down the hall beyond his room. Nothing to write home about in the upstairs department.

“Dennis?”

He freezes. It’s his sister. Is it? He’s in the hospital. He can’t remember much. He remembers the cold. Shaking. Feeling torn from the inside out. He never left Philly, did he? He’s been on crack. Living off fumes for weeks, the air of poppies siphoning through his lungs.

“Da-da?”

Dennis turns to the sound. Platinum blonde hair. A small child on the lap of a woman who is not his sister.

“Dennis, I’m glad ya found me when ya did.”

“Wha-where am I?” Dennis drawls.

His lips feel as fat as two shrimps locked together. Squashed and scaly and covered in too much acidic dressing.

“Ya had hypothermia Dennis,” Mandy says, getting up from her seat to come closer to him, “The doctors think ya might have pneumonia too so ya gotta stay in the care here at Bemidji until ya get back up to health.”

Dennis cringes at her accent. A red substance smeared over his child’s face. His own lips chap, dry and hot and his throat itches. His stomach empty and boiling. She looks at him with kindness in her eyes and he wishes she didn’t. He doesn’t need her pity. Just because none of his friends showed up when he got hospitalised, doesn’t mean Dennis even wanted them to.

“Where’s, where’s Mac?”

Mandy reaches out to wipe away hair from Dennis’ forehead, “O Dennis... I did try to call him but the number your sister gave me called her instead. I do think she did it on purpose, ya have a funny family there don’t ya Brian? Full of jokesters,” she tickles him, “So uh, I don’t know if she told your partner I don’t know how to get on to him.”

“He’s not my…”

Brian Jr. claps his hands and Mandy smiles, “Here ya go,” and places Brian Jr. on the hospital bed beside his dad. A different kind of warmth fills him when Dennis looks at Brian Jr. This bright life. And yet he still feels somewhat empty.

“You said-“ he starts, clears his throat, then continues, “-You called my sister?”

“When you got in, about a fortnight ago.”

A fortnight.

“And they haven’t visited?” He asks quietly.

He looks out the window as he bears her answer.

“I wish you hadn’t called.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think of it so far :D


	9. Ronnie the Rat

Mac takes to sleeping on a pile of rags around the Ass Pounder 4000. It’s the last, and only place, Dennis slept in the refurbished apartment and it’s the closest Mac feels to Dennis with his best friend gone. He doesn’t let the rest of the gang know of course since they don’t seem to mind that they’re missing a gang member. Things go on as normal. And Mac has his own ways of coping.

He’s curled around the exercise bike in the late afternoon, thinking about getting on and letting that little fist punch some sense into him. At first he thinks he’s hearing things when he hears actual punching. Then the front door slams open and a flurry of feet barge into the apartment and Mac jumps to his feet, pulling his workman pants up. He’s struggling with the zipper when two guys dressed in plain clothes barge into the gym room.

“DENNIS REYNOLDS YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT.”

There’s guns in his face and another dude rushing at him with handcuffs and Mac’s raising his hands and protesting but there’s nothing he can do to stop the cop from grabbing Mac by the hair and smashing him face down into the pile of rags.

“IF YOU ARE CURRENTLY IN POSSESSION OF ADDITIONAL ILLEGAL FIREARMS WE INSIST YOU DECLARE THEM NOW OR FACE HEIGHTENED CHARGES UPON THE DISCOVERY OF SUCH OBJECTS THERE FORTH.”

Mac struggles under the weight of the super buff dude who tackled him down, currently trying to wrangle out of cuffs being clacked around his wrists and Mac shouts, “I’m not Dennis!”

“DENNIS REYNOLDS YOU ARE THE SOLE TENNANT REGISTERED TO THIS ADDRESS. WE HAVE DOCUMENTATION OF ILLEGAL FIREARM AND AMMUNITION PURCAHSES MADE TO THIS LOCATION.”

“YEAH I’M NOT DENNIS THOUGH!” Mac yells, “HE’S MISSING!”

The cop by the door nods at the beefcake, “Got any ID to prove otherwise?”

“My wallet! It’s on the kitchen table!”

The cop by the door backs up, looks down at the table and shouts back, “Your ID made out of pizza?”

“OH GOD!” Mac pleads as the beefcake grinds his kneecap into the small of Mac’s back. He may or may not get a boner because of it. “C-coffee table!”

The cop nods at the beefcake and disappears from sight, comes back with Mac’s wallet. He drops it open, holds the gun with his pinkie finger as he riffles through Mac’s multitude of discount cards until he finds a driver’s license. Then he bursts out laughing.

“What is it?” The beefcake hisses.

“HIS NAME IS RONALD MCDONALD.”

“Yeah!” Mac shouts exasperated, “That’s my name! I’m Ronald Mcdonald! Believe me I wish my Dad could have chosen a different first name but he didn’t know McDonalds had a mascot, that’s a kid thing to know. Kids only know that. God! Please God! Let them believe me, my name is Ronald Mcdonald!” Then he adds quietly, “It’s Mac by the way God. I never told you before but Mac is not my full name.”

“LIAR!” The Beefcake spits. He grabs Mac by the hair again and whacks him against the floor. The rags beneath Mac’s face soak in the blood. “PART OF HIS RUSE TO STAGE HIS OWN DEATH.”

“Wait what? I didn’t stage my own death!!”

“YOU THINK YOU’RE SMART DON’T YOU DENNIS REYNOLDS. THINK YOU CAN BLOW UP YOUR OWN CAR WITH YOUR SHIT IN IT. THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY THINKING YOU KILLED YOURSELF WHEN IT’S ALL TO COVER YOUR PLAN TO COMMIT TERRORIST ACTS.”

“WOAH! Woah I’m not Dennis! Dennis has been missing for a month! Check the photos in the apartment! That’s photos of me and DENNIS. I am MAC! MAC MCDONALD!”

The standing cop tries to hold back laughter as he goes around to check out Mac’s story. He comes back with a framed photo of Mac and Dennis, one of Mac’s favourite.

“Sir I think he’s saying the truth. This guy,” the cop points a gloved hand at Dennis in the photo, “Looks just like the ID registered to the car.”

The beefcake twists his knee against Mac’s back and Mac prays to God the position doesn’t get flipped around or he’ll have nothing to hide his definitely hard and definitely raging boner.

“WHERE IS MR REYNOLDS NOW?” The beefcake shouts, right next to Mac’s ear.

Mac strains, blood dripping from his mouth, “I don’t know!”

“Sir, he said his friend was missing,” The other cop points out.

“YOU TELL YOUR FRIEND THAT IF HE DOESN’T TURN HIMSELF IN THEN HE’S GOING TO BE IN WAY MORE TROUBLE THAN HE CAN HANDLE.”

The beefcake then stomps on Mac’s back for extra measure, as the man stands up and walks out. The cop by the door comes over to take the cuffs off and says, “Make sure to thank your priest friend for the heads up.”

The cops then stomp out of his apartment and Mac sits up, rubbing his wrists and ignoring his dick. And oh shit, Cricket is so DEAD. That is, at least, if Dennis doesn’t come back right now and kill Mac first for blaming the whole rocket launcher thing on him instead of owning it. Either way, someone is going to have to pay for throwing Dennis under the bus. And Mac would rather it be Cricket than himself.


	10. It's always sunny in philadelphia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (start of chapters 10-12 dump)

Dennis wakes up to blanketed silence, an inbuilt alarm which has gone off at the same time periodically for over 15 years. He wishes he could press snooze on his entire existence. He blinks out the window, can’t tell if it’s morning or midday or sunset, only that it isn’t dark. Shapes of rooves and weighed trees cut soft shadows into the endless white. He sinks down in his bed, gathers all blankets to cocoon around him. A child’s cry crescendos down the hall. He feigns sleep while Mandy pads down the carpet, scoops Brian up and sings to him softly. The annoying sound of a bird chirping in the morning.

Dennis gazes up at the huge sky unblocked by skyscrapers. It weighs down on him like it’s ready to smother him. On nights where the clouds are gone, the stars are so close and clear that they’re too bright, blinding. And there’s no escape except the thickness of the woods.

As the hours pass, older children file outside from the neighbouring houses. Sounds of children playing in the snow. A snowball smacks his window.

Just a few more days and he’ll be well enough to get out of bed. He has to, or else with Mandy practically force feeding him, he’ll gain weight. And that’ll only make him remember how much he hates her and this place and how no one, specifically Mac, has called to check in.


	11. Between the click of a light and the start of a scheme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title inspired from Arcade Fire's song 'No Cars Go'

Mac is so ready to turn Cricket into dust with his badass karate moves, except the guy does have a point.

“They’re watching you? They’re watching me!” Cricket exclaims. “Do you know how hard it is to go about my daily business with a pair of cops eyeballing my every move?”

His hood falls off his head in shared horror and reveals his burnt face. Mac looks away.

“Whatever dude, just cover it up so I can one hit K-O you.”

“I have a better idea. You and I, we both want this done, right?”

Mac nods, not wanting to look back at Cricket’s disgusting burnt face.

“All you have to do is turn Dennis in, it’s as simple as that!”

“But I don’t want to turn in my best friend and-“

“-And you don’t know where he is.”

“Yeah,” Mac blinks, glaring at the ground then at the space beyond Cricket’s gross face, “Nobody does. Dee told me _Mandy_ doesn’t even know. _No one_ knows where he is or what he’s doing or if he’s eating right or if he’s-”

“Okay, I get it. We’re still going to turn Dennis in.”

“Uhh… Cricket, did you not-”

“Stop interrupting me and listen.”


	12. Bemidji, the first city on the Mississippi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (end of chapters 10-12 dump)

Dennis kind of misses being in the hospital. At least there he had fives verging on sixes bustling about him, breasts falling in front of his face and thongs peeping out when they bent over. Course he’s not allowed to stay as long as he would have liked because he doesn’t have the wallet for it. Doesn’t have a wallet at all for that matter but he doesn’t need to remind himself since Mandy already does that enough.

He put in so much effort in coming up to find Mandy and Brian Jr. in the first place, doesn’t he deserve a break? He just needs some time to figure out his next course of action since the first two schemes fell through. The first being that apparently when Mandy said she wanted Brian Jr.’s father involved in their life, she didn’t mean she wanted to commence a romantic relationship with Dennis. She also apparently didn’t conceive of Dennis coming up to live in the same city as her, let alone the same house. What else was he meant to do? He has no money, no car, no job, no place to live, all because he’s doing what she wants him to do. For their son.

He keeps telling her, there’s no way he’s letting Brian Jr. grow up without a supportive, present father. The line got her the first time, it waned after the second time when he used it to propose to her. Granted, he didn’t have an appropriate engagement ring. If he had a dollar to his name he would have gone to the thrift store. A Target would have sufficed if this joke of a city had one. A woman of her calibre wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between glass and a real stone anyway.

Dennis settles on trying again a few months down the track. He imagines he’ll have more success once he’s established his value more firmly. He looks back and he thinks he was being too hasty. Give her some time and she’ll have no choice but to say yes to him. And by that time, the truths and falsity of the two lies he told Mandy will be flipped. He’ll have money to his name and she’ll finally believe, after months and months of being away from his ‘lover’, that he really isn’t emotionally attached to Mac. He’ll be true to his word. A committed father, a loyal partner, a hard worker, all things nice and good and worthy.

It’s a fool proof plan, really. Except that he needs money. And he absolutely refuses to ask Frank to mail him a new bank card. If they don’t want to talk to him, he doesn’t want to talk to them. Which means he has to figure out a way to make some cash. Unfortunately for him the only two bars in Bemidji already have their staff set. They told him that and the next time he went down for a couple, he thinks it was after Mandy refused to have sex with him again – the rigid bitch – he saw that one of the bars had hired a hot new bartender. Which is ageist and sexist in Dennis’ opinion.

His second idea fell through when he’d attempted to assume a business manager role over Mandy’s sister’s shop. She’d called it Viola’s Violas and Other High Strung Strummers. He thought they should have been called High Strung Strippers since they’d make more money that way. The title still has the alliteration so it would work, but Viola didn’t think it was a good idea when he suggested it after banging her in the back office.

“Oh come on, music and sex? It’s what people want. Of course you’ll have to source some prettier ladies than you and your sister. Only 8000 people in this town? There has to be a crop of eights and above somewhere.”

For some reason he’s not allowed to enter her shop at all now. Not that he wants to ever step foot in that pitiful room again anyway. It was the second scheme he’d come up with. Transform Viola’s business into something that actually makes money rather than teaching lousy cello to adults who aren’t going to get anywhere in the music world at their age.

Mandy works at her sister’s shop four days a week and every other day she’s berating Dennis for having not found a job or moved out yet and honestly Dennis is ready to tell her to shut up about it. It’s the least she could do to hold him up until he sorts himself out, considering that he’s beginning to demonstrate how essential he is going to be to her and their son.

The thing is, he’s kind of daunted by the idea of having to live by himself. He hasn’t ever lived in a home by himself and really, Mandy’s house isn’t bad. Quite a nice set up for being in the price that it is. He’d asked if she slept with the landlord to lower the price. No shame, he’d do it too if it would change the absurdity that was renting in Philadelphia.

“Well, ya know, I think that the old Mandy might have but the old Mandy also didn’t think she shoulda got Brian’s father involved. The new Mandy thinks he just needs a few more weeks before he’s out of her hair. Have you tried at the life insurance shop I hear they’re lookin for new recruits.”

“I’m not working a 9-5 office job Mandy.”

“O well, ya know, you might have to,” Mandy states, leaning toward Dennis with Brian in her arms, “Now don’t forget to get him to try using the potty please. Don’t want him living in nappies forever.”

“Yeah,” Dennis says flatly as he takes the child.

“Okay, I’ll be back in the afternoon. Don’t get up to too much mischief little man!”

Dennis carries his child over to the door and waves Mandy off as she heads off. The two of them watch Mandy pull her car out into the street and watched the fumes plume away in the waiting snow before setting Brian down on the play mat. Dennis sits down beside him and watches the kid pick up toys and smack them against the carpet.

He really is beautiful. Brian Jr. has his eyes. Her nose. Dennis didn’t think he could but with nothing else to do, it really proves how he can sit here and watch his kid all day. Brian Jr. can barely speak, barely walk. Dennis plays with him and feeds him and holds him on his lap while he watches TV. They’re both getting fat but babies are meant to get fat. They’re both getting older, as the time passes, and there’s only so much time before Brian Jr. starts to grow up and realize he hates his father. Better hurry up and become a good person before that time comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update will come in 4-5 days. Sorry about the delay! (It's a good one to wait for imo.)  
> If you have anything you want to say, leave a comment, or come visit me on my tumblr (marci-stahp) :D


	13. Doppelgangers

“Hey-oh!” Mac says as he bursts into the bar.

A tall whispy man follows in after Mac, covering his eyes from the stark contrast of the glare outside and the dimness inside Paddy’s.

“Guys, you remember DENNIS, right?” Mac says, looking around the bar with his eyes wide.

“My name’s not-,” Not-Dennis starts before Mac interrupts him.

Mac leans in and whispers harshly, “Dude just go with it, you’re Dennis now.”

Dee comes around the counter and looks Not-Dennis up and down.

“Oh you found another one?” She asks.

“Another-what? No, this is the same DENNIS,” Mac says, locking eyes with everyone in the bar as he earnestly speaks, “Yeah, did you hear that? DENNIS is back.”

“Mmhmm, sure,” Charlie says, then pulls Dee over to Frank while Mac is distracted with his seventh Dennis look-a-like this month. “Guys I think we have a problem.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Dee says, straightening from Charlie’s attempts at making a huddle. “This is just Mac’s way of grieving.”

“Grieving? Dennis isn’t dead or lost or nothin. What Mac’s doin is he’s tryin to replace Dennis with a Dennisganger,” Frank says, eyes wide behind his thick glasses, “A new Dennis for the gang!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dee scoffs.

“I’m not having him replaced! When people are gone, they’re gone! My whore wife is dead and you think I’d let Mac go out of his way to replace her just cause his dick’s been inside her too?”

“FRANK!” Dee squeaks.

“Woah,” Charlie says, tying to bring the group together, “We don’t know if-“

“I don’t want another Dennis and I don’t want another whore wife after that! Deandra, you should be on my side on this. Mac has to be stopped before he gets the worst case of donkey brains!”

Behind them, Mac makes temporary Dennis sit down on a bar stool and is telling him, “Alright, good, just sit there and look pretty. That’s what Dennis likes to do.”

Another Dennis look-a-like who is currently seated at one of the booths waves at the new Dennis, “Hey, is that another Dennis? Bring him over we want to buy him a drink!”

“Shut up!” Mac hisses at the people in the booth, “You guys aren’t Dennis anymore. THIS, is Dennis. DENNIS REYNOLDS. No, don’t get up things might get confusing if you’re seen next to a bunch of old Dennises.”

“Where _does_ he find these guys though?” Dee says as she peers over at Mac and Dennis #7, “Some of them don’t look like Dennis at all. Did you see that guy Mac brought in last week? The only similar thing about him was his pasty white skin, and the week before that it was that the guy was literally _called_ Dennis. Now _this_ guy, this guy looks pretty damn similar.”

Charlie looks over his shoulder at the man Mac had brought in, “Probably a little higher on the Kinsey scale than actual Dennis am I right?”

“By the look of those short shorts you’re not wrong there Charlie.”

Mac steps toward the front door and cracks it open, leans out, looks down one way of the street and back down the other. His eyes landing on the space where a tow truck had dragged away the burnt carcass of the range rover for investigation.

“So what’s the problem then?” Dee asks, “Do you think The Waitress is going to bang one of these guys thinking he’s the real Dennis?”

“Nah, she’s pregnant Dee, she can’t have sex.”

“She still has a vagina Charlie, the baby isn’t going to block her up or anything she can still spread ‘em.”

Charlie waves his hands, “Nah, nah. You don’t know how babies work Dee.”

“I HAVE BEEN PREGNANT CHARLIE I HAVE GIVEN BIRTH TO A HUMAN BABY.”

Charlie smirks, shaking his head as he tries to pull her back into the huddle, “I think I would remember that.”

“Charlie, Charlie,” Frank pesters him in a coarse whisper, “I’m telling you, Mac’s trying to fill in the gaps and if anyone should be in the gang now it oughtta be Pondy!”

Dee starts gagging at the mention of Pondy.

Charlie shakes his head “No, no shut up. Don’t you guys see what Mac’s really doing?”

The other two stare at him blankly, having already given Charlie their possible answers.

“Think about it. He’s bringing guy after guy in here and if you haven’t noticed, they aren’t going anywhere. They come back with their friends, and we suddenly have a bar full of guys demanding drinks and my work is just piling up!” Charlie pulls at his hair, “You guys need to step the hell up or else I’m going to crazy when this guy’s gay friends all come and join him and they bring their gay friends and soon there’s going to be so many gays and friends and _people_!”

“Hold on, things got gay there Charlie,” Frank points out.

Charlie continues, “Yeah I mean, look at them. I don’t know where Mac keeps finding these 40 year old gays-“

Dee intrerrupts him, “-but check out the weights in their pockets like who knew middle aged gays were so wealthy?!”

“ _That’s_ what you guys need to be aware of here, we’re _making a profit_ and I’m-“

“Oh my God Charlie,” Frank gasps.

Dee speaks over him, “I mean I don’t think that Mac realizes-“

“Oh my God,” Frank repeats, grasping the counter to prevent himself from falling over backwards, “Mac’s turning Paddy’s into a gay bar!”

Dee crosses her arms, “Frank, you’re not going to be homophobic about this are you?”

“That’s not the point! It’s-“

Frank grins, “I can mine this, Charlie, we’re going to make millions! Shareholders only! Dee, get behind the bar-“

“I _am_ behind the bar.”

Frank bustles Charlie into the office and yells at her, “Start serving tables Deandra! Me and Charlie have gotta milk this steak farm!”


	14. Blue Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Rated M as of this chapter)

“O a fitness instructor? That’s nice,” Mandy says as she serves Dennis dinner, “Don’t ya have to have a certificate for that?”

“I have some experience. My… an old friend of mine was a boxer.”

“A boxer,” Mandy grins as she sets down the pot of steaming vegetables. She keeps the oven mittens on as she mimes boxing for Brian, before serving him some warm baby food she’d prepared on the stove. “I’m proud of ya, Dennis.”

Dennis shovels broccoli in his mouth and smiles, trying to think of the last time someone was proud of him.

 

His first pay check is in digits he’s never seen before. Nothing like the kind of wage he was making at Paddy’s. He puts his name down on a rental agreement for a house with too many bedrooms and so much space that he doesn’t know how he’s going to fill it all but it makes him feel good knowing that the space is his now to fill. He uses up the rest of his pay check buying a crib for Brian and takes out a loan on his credit card to fill out the rest of his new home with furniture. Buys a bed, a bookshelf, tables and chairs and a new TV and then runs out of ideas of what else he could buy. The guys from the hardware store come and set up his furniture and he goes to sleep the first night on a bed smelling like fresh plastic.

The next pay check he receives he tosses up between buying a computer or if he should buy things for Brian and decides on the latter because it’ll be more things for less money and it’ll make his house feel more full. He orders books on Turkish Bathhouses and interior design and skips all the stuff about running a successful business because he already knows how to do that. Then he goes to the Target and buys toys and games and decorations for Brian’s room until he runs out of money again. Spends the afternoon arranging Brian’s room and goes to sleep that night proud of himself for how well he’s providing for Brian and how good of a father he’s being.

The owner of the gym he works at drops off a spare fitness bike for him as a house warming gift and there’s only one other room which hasn’t been filled. He keeps the door shut and never opens it again, weirded out by how much it reminds him of Mac’s room in Philly.

 

Dennis visits every weekend.

He lies down on his back with his knees bent and scoops Brian up on his lap. He holds both of Brian’s small hands and pretends to be a car for him. Veering down to the right when Brian tugs his right hand, swooping down left when Brian tugs his left hand, and sometimes doing the opposite just to make Brian giggle.

He flies spoonfuls of baby food into Brian’s mouth as Mandy paints. There’s a competition at the local art gallery. A show to announce the winners. He can’t imagine there’s going to be anything of interest amongst a bunch of local artists who can only paint their farm drenched in ice or a bowl of fruit. Really mundane stuff. He supposes they do it for the money prize. No one would do it for the prestige offered by the world renowned Bemidji Art Gallery.

He keeps these thoughts to himself though.

“How does it look so far?” Mandy asks him, a long paintbrush dripping purple onto the carpet.

Dennis hoists Brian against his side and peers over Mandy’s shoulder at the canvas. A purple vase of sketched flowers.

“It’s looking great, baby.”

He puts Brian in his crib for his afternoon nap and comes back down the hall, thumbing the ring box in his pocket.

 

He circles around the room of Squat Fitness and feels sick to his core. His stomach churning nothing but old alcohol, vomit lurking at the base of his throat and his tongue warns against wrenching it out. Let is simmer. He nods encouragements, waves hands to hasten. Circulates around the room and glares at the fat women pedalling on the exercise bikes, all sweaty and red and eyeing him back. They all clearly want to bang him. He never did go through with banging Mac’s Mom, but if he could get up to the point of offering, he can go through with banging one of these equally ugly and equally unfortunate women if he wanted to.

Of course, they’d have to have something to give him too. He wouldn’t bang a fat bitch for nothing, not again. He’d banged the wife of the boss. Chubby but with muscle mass in unexpected places. Dennis had banged her in her garage shortly after having sat down with her and her husband for a welcome to the business dinner. At the time he was doing it for job security but in the dim light of her dusty garage, freezing winter air skating along the granite floor, he couldn’t look her in the eyes. Large saucers reflective of the colours of the world and he’d had to turn her over, bang her in the way that felt the best but was a tried and tested why to generate feelings of detachment on the first go. That’s exactly why he’d done it though. To detach himself from what he’d seen in her eyes, who he’d seen, who he still thought of as he banged her fast and short against the washing machine.

Lucky for him, she doesn’t come into the centre at all and he doesn’t have to have a daily reminder of how he couldn’t shake the resemblance of her back to his best friend’s. Ex-best friend.

He wears his best fitness wear to work. Form fitting. Prowls around the room giving hard advice when the women need it. And they always need it. His plan is to whip these women into shape and have a loyal following for when he saves up enough money to open up a Turkish Bathhouse. He’d had the idea while in the hospital and couldn’t shake it. Of course there’s only so much he can do for the women to get into shape. They’re going to have to figure out how to afford breast enlargement surgery on their own unless they can help find more beautiful ladies. Then again, perhaps by the time he has earned enough to open up the bathhouse, the hot teenagers will be of age.

Dennis swallows. Puts the concept of spending the rest of his life in Bemidji aside and focuses on what he can do to make himself happy. Having a long term goal is honestly what gets him through the majority of the thickest winter he’s ever experienced, because Christ, there isn’t a lot to love about Bemidji. It’s cold, it’s isolated, it’s empty. Devastatingly empty. He thought that the sound of pool plumbing clamouring or a bird stuck in the wall was annoying in the suburbs of Philly but it was nothing. Absolutely nothing in comparison to the dampening quiet of Bemidji. If he pops a bottle lid off the whole neighbourhood can hear it.

And Dennis hates it. He hates the quiet. Hates his huge, four bedroom flat with cheaper rent than he thinks is humanly possible for a house this big. He hates his job and his ugly customers and that after a long day of berating women who show no physical improvement for weeks and weeks and weeks, he has to pour water on the windscreen of his crappy car before he can drive to Mandy’s and have dinner with her and their son and smile like he means it. Then, daily, he drives home and sits alone in his bed until he falls asleep from nothing else but dry eyed boredom.

 

His face is set stone still the whole drive until he gets to Mandy’s front door and hammers his mouth to smile.

“Hiya,” Mandy welcomes him in, Brian’s small hands wrap around his neck as they hug.

Dennis doesn’t budge from the doorstep. The wind licking at his burning ears. He gets down on one knee. Mandy’s eyes squint as she moves Brian from one side of her hip to the other.

“Dennis…”

“Mandy,” Dennis says, taking the ring box out of his pocket.

Mandy steps back, “O, Dennis, no…”

“Mandy you-“

Mandy holds Brian’s head against her breast as she says evenly, “Dennis stand up.”

“-said no to me before but let me make my case-“

She shakes her head, “I don’t want to hear it Dennis.” She walks over to the dinner table and straps Brian into the high chair, “Come inside and have some dinner.”

Dennis gets up and comes into the house but he keeps talking, “We met by chance a few years ago and at the time I thought I would never see you again-“

“I made green fish curry for something a little different,” Mandy says as she potters into the kitchen.

Dennis comes around and leans on the counter as she stirs over the stove, “-because it was a one-time fling. But then I knew, when I got your phone call-”

Mandy gloves her hands then brings the pot of hot curry over to the dinner table. Comes back into the kitchen to serve rice from the cooker onto two large plates and one small plate for Brian.

“-You remember, the one where you told me you just arrived in Philly? As soon as I got that, I knew it was fate-“

“Take a seat Dennis,” Mandy says as she serves curry over the rice and rests the plate on the table for him. She serves a plate for herself, then a smaller one for Brian.

“We were fated to be together.”

“Mmmhmm,” Mandy hums as she pours cream into Brian’s serving and stirs it around.

“I know that I… I messed up right from the start. I shouldn’t have tried to run away from my responsibilities, but I’ve learned from that now-“

“O ya,” Mandy says, more to Brian than to Dennis as she feeds her son.

“I know you said no to me before because I had nothing, but look at me now. I set myself goals and I have achieved them. And I have _more_ goals. Women _love_ men who have goals. And thanks to my goal setting, I’m now making more money than you. I have a bigger house than you, I have more stuff… your car is probably better than mine but that’s okay. _And_ I’ve been here for Brian.”

“Ya sure have.”

“Our little man,” Dennis smiles at Brian, then looks at Mandy again, “So it makes sense, right? We already have a child together. We even live in the same city now. There’s no reason why we _shouldn’t_ get married. And uh,” he swallows, “I uh, I l-love you.”

“Mmmhmm,” Mandy says as she leaves Brian to eat the food with his fingers, “So are ya done now Dennis?”

“Yeah… I guess. So will you marry me?”

Mandy brushes her skirt beneath her as she sits down and picks up a fork, “No.”

Dennis blinks, furrowing his brow at her, “Why the hell not?! I have _everything_.”

“Mmmhmm well I just don’t love ya in a romantic – _or_ a sexual – way Dennis.”

“You haven’t tried!”

Mandy gives him a toothless smile and starts eating her dinner in silence.

“Wha-“ he holds himself back with a huff, “Is it – that stuff about not having any room for you emotionally? That was a lie. Isn’t that obvious now? I have demonstrated-“

“O Dennis,” Mandy interrupts him firmly, “I think we both know who your heart belongs to.”

Dennis looks at her gobsmacked, “It’s to you and Brian!”

“O maybe…”

“You think I don’t love you both?”

“Well, Dennis, I do think you love us, yes,” she turns to Brian and ruffles her hand through his hair, “Daddy loves you darling. But here’s the thing Dennis, I don’t know… exactly what kind of relationships people have in the city but I can’t start a relationship with a man who isn’t going to love me for who I am as a person.”

“Wha- You aren’t listening to me, Mandy!” He chokes on the last part, as if saying it more and louder is going to make it truer, “I love you!”

Mandy sits back, nodding slowly, “O, mmhmm…”

“Stop saying that! OH MY GOD!” Dennis pushes out of his chair and starts pacing, “You don’t know how _hard_ I am trying Mandy. I play with Brian all day. ALL DAY. And it’s BORING. I’m sorry to say it, but it’s true. It’s repetitive. It’s draining. And I don’t know how long I can keep doing it for!”

“O Dennis, sit down.”

Dennis pinches his ear lobes and tugs them briefly then pinches the bridge of his nose, “No I’m not – I’m at my wits end with you Mandy. I have done SO much for you.” He turns and grips the back of his dining chair and glares at her, as if that’s going to stop him from shaking. “I have changed my very _being_ for you and Brian. And for what?”

“Dennis I appr-“

Dennis raises his voice to dominate over her, “Look I love Brian. I love him with _all_ of my heart. And I’m trying _so hard_ to be the best father ever. But-“ He pauses to blink at the ceiling. The words he’s saying catches up to him. He’d meant to propose to her. She was meant to say yes. He was so sure she wouldn’t say no and now that she has, his instinct is to back out?? “I don’t think I’m cut out for this Mandy. I’m so… afraid Mandy.” He pauses for dramatic effect. He’s in this now. If only he had a raw onion to help make it more believable. “I’m afraid I’ll turn Brian into myself.”

Dennis turns dejectedly and starts pacing, watching Mandy in his periphery. She’s going to say, _oh no Dennis, you’re a great father, you’re not a failure, we love you and want you to stay involved in our lives forever, move in with us again, I love you and want to marry you and have sex with you right now_. But she doesn’t say anything. Instead she sits there, watching him, waiting for him to say something else.

Dennis’ nostrils flare. “Maybe you’re right.” He throws up his arms. “Maybe providing for him isn’t enough. I should know! My father was gone most of my childhood making his millions in Vietnam and look how I turned out! All I wanted Mandy, was to give Brian a family in a loving home. Don’t you want that? For Brian?”

“Dennis if you don’t want this-“

 _God damn it don’t be so supportive all the god damn time!_ Dennis thinks.

“So what you’re saying, _Mandy_ , is that the best thing I can do for our son… the best thing I can impart on this young boy’s life is leaving while he’s too young to remember who I am. Before he can really form an emotional bond with me.”

“O, now-“

“You know what it’s probably for the best. Let someone else – some man who you’ll say yes to marrying – can be his father. Because that’s what you want, isn’t it?” He sighs dramatically, “It’s all I can give you.”

“Dennis I-“

“OH MY GOD that IS what you want isn’t it? JESUS. I should have listened to Frank right from the start. You DO just want my money. Buying all these things for Brian. You don’t _want_ me. You never wanted me. Well, you can’t have me!”

At that, Dennis storms out of Mandy’s home and hops in his car and drives off leaving Mandy and Brian at the dinner table, their food getting cold.

“O, uh… jeez, you’re from quite the family aren’t ya Brian, going to grow up one day to be an actor. Well, do you think he liked the curry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i just wanted to make a quick note on Dennis' tendency to fat shame. Like, Dennis is a pretty awful person. He's fat repulsed canonically to the extent that he drugs his best friend in order to make him lose weight. So while i don't endorse fat shaming anyone or manipulating people in the way that i have written Dennis to do, that's how he is canonically, but his complexities is what makes him such an interesting character to write.
> 
> Also, be wary that due to his tendency to manipulate not only people, but the image that life that he lives, he may not always be a reliable narrator. That also comes through on the show and is something i've tried to flesh out in this fic. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it so far :D lots more to come - the next update will be in four days time.


	15. Nightcore

There’s always something wrong with the guys Mac finds. Granted, there aren’t a lot of guys who look like Dennis. Or at least there’s not as many who fall for Mac’s ploy to get them to come to a strange empty bar in the middle of Philly. Nevertheless, he’s finding it difficult to source the correct likeliness. Wrong skin pigmentation, wrong eye colour, wrong type of hair, wrong type of body, too tall or too fat. One Dennis look-a-like even wears his clothes too frumpy even after very thoughtful and considerate advice. Mac thinks the fact that none of them look identical _enough_ is why the police haven’t barged in and tried to arrest one. Mac also kind of hopes that that hot burly cop will be the one to barge in and shove Mac on the ground again. Mac didn’t like getting almost arrested as much as the next guy _but_ he didn’t mind the whole grinding close bodies together. It’s something he really misses in life now that he doesn’t sleep beside anyone…

The only thing that he seems to be achieving is amassing these dudes who look like off imitations of the real deal and the thing is, they _won’t leave_. Charlie and Frank think it’s a good thing. Dee doesn’t seem to give a shit. And Mac has a hard time adjusting.

 

Everyone seems to be on board with the proposal to install a stage except for Mac. He has a thing or two to say about getting rid of the billiards and foosball tables out too. He knows that if Dennis was there at the time, things would have been different. Things would have been entirely different. And when the whole vibe of Paddy’s begins to change, with all these guys and these Dennis impersonators hanging around in ridiculously sparkly costumes and colourful makeup and god damn _smiling_ at Mac at every turn, there’s something inside him that feels like someone is repeatedly slamming a massive karate chop to his gut. The voice of God running off his sins and his prayers where all Mac wishes for is that, like something out of a science fiction movie, one of his Dennises turns into the real one. Solve all his problems and wave farewell to the golden gates and the white wings of angels. Dennis, his real Dennis, will wrap his arms around him, the arms of a golden god, blasphemous and a sodomite but with eyes as kind as the ocean and a smile just as wide and giving. Of course he tries not to show how much he misses Dennis. That’s not badass. If the rest of the gang can move on, so can he, right?

 

Mac’s eyes light up, “Do you mean I get to be the sheriff of Paddy’s again?”

“Dude, come on,” Charlie says, “You’ve _always_ been the sheriff.”

It’s a way more badass title than ‘bodyguard’. And it’s kind of his calling, except as he stands watch, he feels like he’s losing his grip. In the corner of his eye, in the stained glass refracted and uneven, he thinks he sees Dennis behind it. Almost every night. Thinks he sees Dennis queuing in line when it’s one of Dennis2 through to 7 and he can’t stand it because he hopes every god damn time. God wills him to be gullible and to hurt from the realisation and he falls for it, wants to fall for it, maybe. To be close to Dennis for a moment, a false moment, before the clarity of the opened door shows him that his Dennis isn’t there. Hasn’t been there for three, coming on four months now.

He still calls Dennis even though he knows the number has been disconnected. Sometimes he can pretend it goes into the ring tone. Rings out. Only in his dreams does Dennis actually answer. He can’t sleep in the apartment anymore either. Aside from the fact that the power doesn’t seem to work anymore, he can’t put himself through leaving his hand on the doorknob to the bedroom for minutes elongated into hours, only to opt for the couch. Night after night.

Dee lets him sleep in her bed one night when they get really drunk after their shifts had ended. They sleep side by side for the first few nights. Reminds him of the year they had to spend all rugged up, the three of them, with old black guy too. Dee tells him he got too used to it, that Mac was wrong to expect to continue on with it once their apartment was ready. And yeah, he freaking did expect Dennis to keep sleeping in the same bed as him. He hadn’t thought it was a problem until Dennis spent one night in the apartment and then left forever.

He doesn’t want to think about all the mistakes he has made but he does. Thinks about if he had made up his room like it was before as well or if he never proposed the plan to be a pretend couple or if he went back in the closet, maybe Dennis would still be around. Because it must be himself, right?

He must have scared Dennis away.

He cries a lot. At night. And not even a week passes before Dee moves to the couch. He doesn’t think it’s because she had heard him crying. He was always pretty quiet about it. But it is better sleeping in her bed than in his apartment though, on his own couch, a bed waiting for him which he can’t bring himself to sleep in. He takes solace in the fact that Dee is just a room away, and yet it doesn’t make him feel any less alone.

 

“No you listen to me you bitch,” Charlie growls, “You need to stop trying to rip your pathetic jokes on our customers, take it to the stage if you really want to get a reaction out of people but me? If I hear one more customer knock on the office door and complain to me about a dumb bird slipping on jokes and not delivering their orders I swear to God Dee I will fire you. I will make it so you will never set foot in this bar again!”

Dee towers over Charlie and glares at him as she spits, “You’re not the boss of me.”

Charlie smirks defiant under her glare, “Oh but I am Dee. Look around. Really _think_ about what’s going on here. We’ve got Frank over here, running the performances. Oh yeah, he’s mostly back stage but that whole stage area, that’s his domain. He has nothing to do with the rest of Paddy’s and do you know why? Because I, me, Charlie Kelly, got him onto the idea of doing shows. Sure, we had to compromise with the billiards table but do you think Frank could have thought of this whole set up on his own? NO. I planted the seeds, deep inside him in the dark of the night. It was all me. Now Mac? He’s a shitty bartender-”

“So awful,” Dee agrees, having reclined in her aggression over Charlie.

“-That’s not his forte. _I_ saw that. I put him where he shines and that’s the muscle. He checks the IDs, makes sure those who can enter, enter, and the ones that shouldn’t stay out. He can spot the pre-pubescent from a mile off because he’s good at that, he has an _eye_ for it. I can’t tell the difference, it’s a family thing. And then there’s you.” Charlie clicks his tongue, “Sweet Dee. Rotting in your brother’s shadow. See, you have no choice, Dee. You _have_ to bartend. It’s your _destiny_ , your hand-me-down destiny because Dennis decided to say he was leaving and literally never came back.

“And you don’t _want_ him to come back, do you? Because you see how valuable his position was, don’t you Dee? If you take his spot, as Head Bartender, think about what that means. You’ll have _so_ much power, Dee. _Unbelievable_ power in your position. You control the cycle of alcohol between you and customers and performers. They _thirst_ for what you can offer them. They praise the heavens when you deliver what they desire. Dennis has held this prestigious throne for eons before you and now it is your throne to take, so take it.”

“My throne…”

“Seize it, Dee. Seize what’s yours!”

“YEAH! Oh man, Dennis has been keeping me from this for years and it’s finally mine, YEAH I’m going to do this oh man I’m so pumped I could burst a bottle in my bare fists!”

“Alright, alright,” Charlie’s saying as he pushes Dee back behind the bar, “Now channel that energy into your wor-uh, into _liquidising_ their fears and _filthy_ wants and serve it to them on fire. Let your triumph over their simple minds _fuel_ you!” Then, he steps back to ensure his work is done. He then goes back into the office, shuts the door and takes out a cigar, muttering, “Dumb bitch,” under his breath.

 

As much as he mopes, Dee is kind of right. He can’t keep going on the way he has been. If the rest of the gang can move on, he can also. It may also be due to the fact that Mac kind of has no choice but to step up. The bar is actually making money.

Mac never bothered remembering what day of the week it was before Frank’s enterprise really took off. Themed events every day of the week helps reel customers in, and he only knows what day it is due to what’s booked for the night. Thursdays they don’t normally have anything exciting beyond student specials, but Fridays through to Sundays they host drag shows, music performers, dances, and even comedy nights if they’re not already booked out. Dee wants to move comedy night to Thursdays, but she’s the only one on board with it and basically has no say because she has no shares in the business.

Aside from having Mondays and Tuesdays off, Wednesdays are his favourite. Karaoke night. He just knows that if Dennis was still around, Wednesdays would be his favourite too. It’s a great way to start a week of work again after two days off. And he needs that kick for the first day of his week because no one ever told him what being the sheriff actually _entailed_.

He thought he had to just watch out for punks but Charlie tells him all this stuff he has to do and it keeps him busy for half the day. It’s easier work when he’s not thinking about how much Dennis7 would look even more like Dennis if he dyed his hair. Good thing there’s lots to be distracted about. Likes it when people’s fingers linger too long when they pass over their ID. Likes it when guys try to flirt with him to get passed the queue. Likes it when he gets to show off how much he can flex his biceps. And likes it a whole lot when Dennis7 takes him into the bathroom and pushes him against the wall.

Mac kisses Dennis7 and runs his hands through perfectly dyed hair and he praises Dennis7 on the perfection he has achieved in the colouring. It’s a perfect greying brown, an ashen sand colour and Mac secretly thinks that his next course of action is to get a curling iron into Dennis7’s hair and get those loose waves around his hairline that Mac loves. For now he can close his eyes and pretend it looks the right way, pretend that the man pushing him up against the grimy bathroom wall is not the seventh look alike but the real Dennis. His Dennis. Kissing him hard and hungry and sneaking his hand up Mac’s shirt.

“Mac?”

Mac hums, nibbling Dennis7’s ear as he says, “Dude I have no idea how you did that but you even _sound_ like him.”

He moans as Dennis7 rolls his hips into his, tilts his head to reconnect lips. Outside the bathroom, the music suddenly stops. Someone’s shouting and a bathroom stall slams shut but Mac doesn’t care. For a moment he thinks Charlie might come down on him for having shirked his job for a moment, but he forgets his worries when Dennis7 hitches Mac’s legs up around his hips and their clothed cocks strain against each other.

Suddenly the door to the bathroom swings open and slams against the tiled wall. Dennis7 jumps back in fright, causing Mac to slip and fall against to the floor.

The hot policeman dressed in full protective gear, minus the head piece, bursts into the bathroom with his gun pointing at Dennis7 and he shouts, “DENNIS REYNOLDS! PUT YOUR HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”

Dennis7 gets on his knees and shoves his hands in the air, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

Another policeman stomps into the bathroom behind the hot one, although arguably they are both pretty hot in Mac’s opinion. And yeah, his boner hasn’t entirely deflated, and he imagine it probably won’t given the possibility of being crushed by a hot cop.

“MR REYNOLDS YOU MADE THE WRONG CHOICE TO ENTER THE STATE AGAIN. GET ON YOUR KNEES!”

Mac stumbles as he gets to his feet, his heart in his throat, his mouth parched. The reality of the situation dawning on him.

The first police officer shuffles forward, his gun still aimed at Dennis7’s face and when he’s close enough he grips Dennis7 by the shoulder while the other policeman comes around with the handcuffs.

“Dennis!” Mac swallows hard, helpless in watching his new found friend being arrested for something he didn’t do.

“I’m not Dennis!” Dennis7 protests, “My name is Alan! Alan Milbourne!”

The police then proceed to take Dennis7 out of Paddy’s, Mac close on their tail. The police read off rights and Mac watches on in horror as Dennis7 gets shuffled into the patrol car and whisked off into the night. He could have done something. He could have told the police, that’s not the right guy. That’s not Dennis. His name is… Alan… _Apparently_.

Cricket emerges from the side alley, scaring the shit out of Mac. “Hope this doesn’t hurt what you guys have going on here. I am making a _killing_ from your clientele.” He claps Mac on the shoulder and grins a grin minus a few teeth. “At least we got rid of that _problem_ , huh pal.”

Mac shrugs Cricket’s gross hand away, the quiet from Paddy’s behind him pressing in on him cold and heavy, the opposite of the hot pressure against the bathroom wall just moments before. And if losing Dennis the first time hadn’t gotten to him bad enough, losing him for a second time hits him twice as hard. He drops to the asphalt, finding it hard to breath, choking on the stink coming from Cricket and the blank soundlessness from Paddy’s and the loss of a friend. The loss of a lover alive and well and unwilling to talk and make peace.

Mac clenches his fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mac bringing in a bunch of Dennis lookalikes was inspired by this post: https://beachdeath.tumblr.com/post/158632273833/im-just-gearing-up-for-the-s13-episode-in-which


	16. Persona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fargo references in this one (Don Chumph), and choking.

He lifts the window shade all the way up and stares out at the streets below. Headlights in twin diamonds stream down hidden highways, one after another, an infinite oscillating line depreciating the value. The plane lifts higher and the lights below congregate into a sparkling mass. He shoves the shade down and stares at the dark fabric of the seat in front of him, his body not his own, his voice borrowed from a deceased brother. Frank told him once that he and Dee were actually triplets in the womb, but that Dee had consumed Donnie before they were born. Dennis thinks that’s why he can’t feel things sometimes. She took Donnie’s energy, took his emotions and left Dennis an empty husk, starved and trapped in the womb for months and months. Scarred from having witnessed his sister consume Donnie, flesh and blood and heart and soul.

He glares through the dim light at the thin legs of air hostesses sitting in their alcove. Turns his gaze to the large breasted woman nestled beside him, the V cut of her top sagging as she sleeps. It doesn’t do anything for him. He turns his mind from arousal to love. Pictures Brian Jr. in his high chair, strawberry juice all over his chin and he feels blank. He pictures Mandy perched on a stool, cello in hand, playing that song Dennis likes. Deep strums like sighs torn out of his stomach sewn into soft melodies that he can no longer recall. He pictures seeing Mac in the bathroom, legs hooked around some guy, some old no-one and he should feel _something_. Rage, disgust, jealousy, exclusion. A tickle in his palm, a fly on his hand. Nothing.

 

He had used a pay phone to call Mac as soon as he landed in Philly. Mac hadn’t answered. He’d hung up before he had to hear the voicemail message. Probably a good thing Mac hadn’t picked up, honestly Dennis hadn’t been ready to hear Mac’s voice. He’d probably received an earful and turn off the whole idea of coming back to Philly in the first place. Best to greet the gang all at once. He had taken a taxi over to the bar, just around the corner. Stepped out into the humid night. Had wrung his wrists and paced before committing to going inside the bar. Sticky air had lapped at the nape of his neck as he walked down toward the front door. Homeless people had scuffled with rats in the dark alleys. He had pictured his entrance so grandiose in nature. They’d be happy to see him. His friends would all come flocking to him. Hug him, congratulate him, beg for his stories. He would sit with them and drink with them and talk through the night about his horrific time in Bemidji and he would go back to his apartment with all his stuff and tapes and things would go back to normal. He’d single Mac out later, get down to the bottom of why Mac thought it was a good idea to blow up his car.

Except it hadn’t been anything like he was expecting. On a night like that, a time like it was, it should have been empty. Instead, it was bright and lively. Full of people dancing and singing and talking too loud. And the gang were working. Actually _working_. Or at least, half of them were. Dee had been behind the bar mixing drinks. Frank had been on stage introducing an act – an _act_. On a _stage_. Charlie and Mac were nowhere to be seen but the place looked immaculate. As if Charlie was actually doing his job, or else they were paying some other sucker to do the work for them. Could probably afford it by the looks of the amount of people packed into the bar.

Before he jumped to the idea the realisation that nobody had seen or heard his great arms up entrance, he had a moment of gluttonous pride in picturing Charlie up in arms about Dennis having left. That maybe Charlie had up and quit too. A sort of silent commitment to not go on without Dennis. He had thought Mac might have done something similar. Didn’t think about it too long thought because the blatant failure of his grand entrance clung to him. He could have shouted louder, raised his voice over the loud music, but instead vomit lurked in his throat as dread ignited his guts.

He had pushed through men wearing mesh shirts and crop tops and had shoved passed the line queuing for the bathroom, ready to puke and had stopped dead in his tracks.

“Mac?”

He knew Mac was out but he hadn’t been prepared for the sight. The sight of some guy who had looked eerily like himself pushing Mac against the wall. The world had seemed to come to a standstill. Sound beyond the bathroom became cloudy, quiet. Death had caught in his throat, his pulse had drummed a loud diminuendo, fading the music out at each beat, exhale loud, beat quiet, exhale, until the space circulating around him was devoid of noise. No heart in his throat. No voices. Breathless, airless. Only the noises of wet lips, the crumple of fabric, the little pants Mac had made under the prowess of that decrepit imposter.

Dennis had only inhaled at the wanton vocalisation of his name elicited from his, decidedly, _former_ best friend.

Sirens had rang loud, he had seen the red and blue flash across the shiny air vents, vents so clean that he started to seriously believe that he’d walked into the wrong bar entirely.

“SURRENDER DENNIS REYNOLDS IMMEDIATELY, OR FACE ARREST!”

His ears had burnt at his sister’s dry smirk, “He’s in the bathroom with Mac.”

The hairs on his neck had prickled at the sound of the tangible aggression in the presumably policeman’s gruff voice. He had darted into a stall and pushed the guy who was in there out. Slammed the door shut. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d deserted the car at the Fargo airport. He hadn’t thought that they’d bother to track him all the way to Philly for an arrest.

Shouting had amplified against the tiles. He stumbled further backwards in the stall. Palm flat against one side to steady. Breath escaped him again. Had returned in successions. Sounds of police radios filled the room, sirens piercing in from outside and he should probably have kept his mind on an imminent arrest but he kept flitting back to Mac. Flushed and pleasured against a wall by that _man_.

“DENNIS!”

He had shuddered into himself. Shrivelled like the fleshy remains of his dead brother. They didn’t need him.

Footsteps had carried out of the bathroom, Mac’s wailing monstrous over the stifling quiet of the once loud bar. Dennis had stepped out of bathroom. Door swung shut after him. Lights out. People had stood by in groups whispering, others had hung around the front door peering out to watch. In the sliver of light parsed down onto the street outside, Dennis had laid eyes on Mac, face screwed pink and wet with tears.

Mac had cried for a man Dennis didn’t even know, but he wouldn’t call him? He’d made sure Mandy had texted through his new number. Obviously Mac didn’t care about him anymore.

That asshole.

 

He rents a car from the Fargo airport and arranges the company to pick it up in Bemidji. The snowfall is relentless. Windscreen wipers going into light speed. He grips the cheap plastic steering wheel, hunches close. The whole car sways in the wind. Clearly none of them think they need Dennis anymore. Clearly they think they’re doing better off without him.

Someone had tricked Dee into actually doing work. They had hired someone who could do Charlie Work more efficiently than the man himself. And Frank? That _bastard_. Dennis had, on numerous occasions, put forward upgrading the bar but _no one_ had agreed to it before. But what, the minute he goes, they go ahead with it? Not to mention they were doing it all wrong. Frank, of all people, should know that the lighting in the bar is perfect for a strip club, perfect for ladies of all ages to dance under. Preferably the younger ones. But no, now that Mac is out, everyone in South Philly is meant to be subjected to the LGBT+ rigmarole? Not that Dennis is homophobic. If anyone’s homophobic it’s Frank, _he’s_ the one who’s making a profit of it all.

Although, the worst part about the whole thing isn’t that the bar has changed or that his sister got whipped or that Dennis hasn’t seen a cent of his share profits or any of that. It’s Mac. His no good _ex_ -friend, Mac. Thinks he doesn’t need Dennis… Thinks he can _replace_ him with some factory reject. As if Dennis is inherently replaceable? Who the _hell_ does Mac think he is? And how the shit could Mac _care_ for some guy who he has known for what, maximum 4 months? Dennis can’t make sense of it. He’s known Mac for _so_ long.

Mac should have called by now too. If it was because Mac was afraid to tell Dennis that he’d moved on so quickly, he’s right to be. If Dennis hadn’t thought he was about to get arrested he would have had some things to say to Mac. How could he go _that_ insane and attach himself to a man who only _barely_ looks like Dennis. Too ugly to match up. Now _that’s_ messed up.

He hammers the tiny box of a car down the highway until a massive snow clearer blocks up the whole two lanes. He can’t even pass because the snow and ice is so thick on the sides of the road. He’s forced to slow down to a crawl and he roars. Breath hot and fogging up the windscreen. He punches the horn multiple times. The heavy machinery in front of him aggressively honks back and Dennis thinks the driver must intentionally slow down. If the weather wasn’t so frosty outside he’d leap out of his car and catch the damn thing on foot and give the driver a piece of his mind.

For now, he’s stuck at a crawl.  

He puts on the radio. Crackly. Fragments of pop songs he doesn’t care to like. Screams some more and watches in disdain as the windscreen slowly defogs. After half an hour of absolute agony, the plougher leans into a shoulder shelved into a long driveway to enable Dennis to pass. Tires spin and he smells burning rubber and the fright of wheels spinning briefly on ice as he passes. Tires gain traction again and he speeds relentlessly through the storm back to the gates of Hell.

How _dare_ Mac move on so easily? How dare any of them? The gang is nothing to him now. Philadelphia, non-existent. His greedy Father, dead. His snitch of a sister, a bitch destined for a long lonely, loveless life. Charlie, well, whatever, he’s as bad as the rest of them. And Mac? The worst of them all. An asshole in all senses of the word. Utterly disrespectful. Insane. Un-loveable. And unredeemable.

 

His home in Bemidji feels the same way ever since he tore away from it, keys still in the lock. The air to the house has an unliftable, eerie feeling to it, like he’s walking through shimmering ghosts. A sense of being alone, but with eyes on him from another dimension. As if a family lives in the spaces Dennis doesn’t fill. Components of a happy family, loving and smiling and wholesome and Dennis can only move through them. Nothing sticks. He can’t become them, he can only wear them.

And honestly it is the most dissatisfying thing to know that the only expectation that has been met, the one and only thing that Dennis has been right about in the last four or so months is that Bemidji is exactly the way he left it. The snow still heavy, endless, suffocating. Everyone is so damned gracious and accommodating and it’s disappointing as hell. No one yells at him, no one slaps him. Quiet disdain is quickly overcome as Mandy lets him inside her home, lets him hold Brian Jr. again despite Mandy’s sister’s disinclination. Work welcomes him back on schedule without any hiccups. The fine he gets charged for deserting his car at the Fargo airport parking lot isn’t even an amount worth complaining about.

So why had everything changed in the last place Dennis had wanted it to?

He can never go back. Announced or unannounced. He has no choice but to stay in this boring town. No choice by to return warm smiles. It doesn’t mean he can mean it though. So long as the people around him believe he’s honest, then he can go on and pretend. And the longer he pretends, maybe some of it will become true. Seep into his soul and imprint on his shadow, inescapable simply because it’s naturally attached to him.

 

He’s angry for a long time until he forgets how to feel anything. Anger sort of plateaus and he can’t feel love, he can’t feel hate. The spectrum of emotions falling flat on pure needs like hunger and thirst and boredom.

And _shit_ does he feel bored.

 

He picks up more hours at work, which alters his caretaking schedule with Brian Jr. He gets Brian two days a week now. He thinks he ought to care about the reduced time but he doesn’t. He feels empty, even while he carries the child on his hip, feels the weight of the small life he helped bring into this dull world.

He watches Mandy arrive home from helping paint a mural in the community hall, a work of art with the kind of skill you could probably employ an eight year old to achieve. Mandy’s still in the car, fiddling around with something Dennis cannot see from his spot by the bay window. Brian mumbles something in his unformed language and looks up at Dennis, naïve wonder in his eyes and it is love, but from someone who doesn’t understand it yet. Doesn’t understand how love can ruin.

 

It’s the same four women who come to the gym every day. Gossiping and flirting and gorging themselves at the diner after every session. Dennis should know the ladies by name by now, except that Dennis Reynolds couldn’t care less. It goes on for weeks and weeks and weeks. An incessant feeling like days go on in an endless fashion. He cannot find joy in anything. He sleeps in most days, late, and nobody cares. An easy going culture that destroys him. He can’t get his dick up either, not even when he thinks of old favourites, thoughts of the weather girl in pinup underwear that accentuates her enormous breasts. He turns to extremes, things he hasn’t thought of since he was in college, images that made him feel better back in the day because it made him deviate from his mindset of the time. And they do nothing for him now. The apathetic mindset now a stark contrast to his empathetic college student years when he felt too much despair. Now he sits down on his bed, beer bottle in hand and despair in the other like the oldest friends he’s ever had.

He tucks the beer bottle behind him, liquor dribbles onto his sheets. Wraps one hand around whiskey dick and the other around his throat. And thinks of Mac. Distances himself from the thought by imagining Mac fat like he was once, weighing on Dennis and choking him and blood rushing to places that matter. In the stories he tells in his mind he cums to completion. In reality, he lays limp in sweaty bed sheets with beer bottles beneath his head in lieu of pillows.

 

Out of sheer boredom he invents a person. He seeks the thrill in assuming the role of someone who radiates positive energy, who generates optimism with such confidence that it’s obnoxious. Naïve, even. Someone who would care about remembering the names of the women in his class, of his neighbours too and of the people in the town he comes into frequent contact with. Of a man who cares to remember the stupid little details of his client’s mundane lives. A man who can take such an interest that he can build a network, improve his client base and build a business. An empire. An entrepreneurship needs a man like Dennis, who can drive a personality to achieve something Dennis himself would never bother to attempt. And it’s actually what Dennis needs, too. To play someone else. To scheme.

Brian Lefevre is a tired player. Dennis invents someone else. Don Chumph.

The women have no trouble calling him by a new name. Den to Don. It’s only one letter different. He’s quite fond of the surname Chumph too because it’s spelled a little like ‘champ’. He thinks Mac would appreciate it. He does not, however, appreciate having a kind thought about Mac. He sticks to it though, and invents a personality around the name. Traits and quirks and a whole appearance change. Someone so different from himself, so good and pure and _ugly_ that he can really commit to being this person.

And for the first time in months he holds his thick cock in his hand and he cums on the innocent thought of people actually falling for the lies he tells. 

 

However, it means he sees less and less of Brian. Drops him off at the day care after Mandy drops their son off. Don Chumph hands it over to Dennis to pick Brian up before Mandy’s due home. Don Chumph thinks it’s good for Brian Jr. to be around other kids and make friends. Dennis is just thankful that Brian isn’t old enough to form comprehensive sentences and tell Mandy all about the fun time he didn’t have with Daddy while she was at work.

Don Chumph expands to doing freelancing jobs. During his first visit in a woman’s home, he catches a glimpse of himself in a slim mirror situated in the corner of her lounge room. Stubble grows across his pale face and he thinks he can do more. Grow a beard, bronze up, change his fashion. He’ll absolutely hate it. But it’s something. And Dennis can hate Don Chumph as much as he likes but he’ll never hate his invented identity more than he hates himself. Or this town. Or his home town. At least Don Chumph is his own making. Don is controllable. He’s a knight in disguise when everyone else thinks Don is their pawn. And he’ll use the assumptions people make about Don Chumph against them. Take what he can get. Sex, gifts, money. The sweet release of a successful scheme.

Then he gets a home visit request from Helena Stavros and he gets _unimaginably_ lucky.


	17. Dee tries to break the glass ceiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Substance abuse warning for this chapter)

Charlie pulls down his glasses, the stupid chain falling around his neck and he quips at her, “So?”

“SO?!”

Charlie sighs excessively, “What’s a number going to do?”

Frank folds his arms, “Yeah. Dennis can come down to Philly and say hi if he wants to talk.”

“There’s nothing I want to say to him over the phone,” Charlie concurs with a shrug, putting his feet back on top of the desk, “There’s nothing I want to say to him over the phone except that if he wants in on our profits he has to show up for shareholder meetings to prove that he deserves the shares that he has.”

“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Dee shouts, exasperatedly jabbing a thumb against her chest, “I deserve those shares!! I have leverage, juicy information that you _need_ in order to transfer those shares to me, the _rightful_ owner!”

Charlie and Frank both laugh. After the laughter subsides, Charlie resumes his pretentious observation, “Sounds like you need more from us than we need from you.”

Dee fumes, “Frank don’t you want to talk to your son?!”

“Pshaw, nah. Same as what Charlie said. I’m on the phone every damn day I don’t wanna have to do it extra.”

Dee screeches and storms out of the office, marching into the throes of people packed inside the bar. Customers bang their fists on top of the bar and Dee only just gets back around it before she can stop someone from leaning over and snagging without paying. And Mac isn’t even around to help her. If she was in charge, she wouldn’t let this happen, but if Charlie and Frank think they can treat her like shit then why the hell is she sticking around for it?

She storms outside. No one chases her. She marches down the nearest alleyway, kicking boxes and garbage bags out of her way until the night shade is dark enough to cloak her. She picks out a small baggie of coke from her jeans pocket and smears a generous amount on her gums and her tongue. Slowly she starts to feel numb, but it doesn’t lessen how furious she is.

Charlie and Frank don’t understand how much _better_ things around Paddy’s would be if they let her run the place. She blames her bad luck all on Dennis. It’s because of him, _his_ reputation of running Paddy’s into the ground, which has her barred from what’s hers. And when she thinks about it, it’s the ultimate _screw you_ to her twin brother for how he up and left things, to not pass on the – not only _juicy_ but helpful – information she has on her brother, to the person who would value it the most.

 

Except she kind of feels bad. Actually, she feels really bad. But it gets to a point where, she’s sat on this information for so long that there’s gotta be a real good reason for her to reveal it. And so far her only good reason is that Mac doesn’t have enough power over Charlie and Frank to influence their decision. Especially because he’s going to agree with the rest of the gang until she butters him up. Gets him on her side.

She still feels bad about it though.

She had told Mac that he could stay as long as he needed, even though she literally just got them out of her home. One was better than two. And at first, she was just as angry at Dennis as everyone else. It’s part of why she never told anyone her secret. Thought it was vengeance, just desserts. She’s starting to regret the decision to stay quiet about it a hell of a lot more now. Might have saved them all some trouble.

So she helps in small ways. Too guilt ridden to actually say it. Chokes up too much.

“Ew Dee if you’re going to do that thing with your mouth, take it to the bathroom. Jesus, you’re going to make _me_ sick.”

Dee holds back her retching and wheezes out, “Never mind… Hey, uh, what’s your bank log in?”

“My b-“ Mac squints at her, “Why?”

“I’m going to help you pay off your debts.”

“But why?”

Dee kicks Mac’s shin, but scoots over beside him on the bed with her laptop in hand. Turns out Mac didn’t know online banking was real. It’s a whole thing. It’s a whole painful, long, frustrating as shit process to go through but eventually Dee helps Mac set up an online bank account.

“Holy shit, no. No way. Is that-“ Mac jabs his finger at the digits on the screen, “Is that _mine_? Is that how much _money_ I have?”

Dee purses her lips, “Yeah Mac, you’re practically a freaking millionaire because you made my brother handle all the money before. Bad mistake, my guy. Now that he’s… well, Charlie’s actually depositing money into your account and the dumb idiot’s dyslexic enough that he’s putting the decimals in the wrong spot.”

“I’m rich…” Mac stares off, his eyes alive with ideas.

“It took you this long to realize Dennis was ripping you off.”

Mac bites his lip at the sound of Dennis’ name, stares at his hands in his lap.

“Anyway, I’m going to show you how to pay your electricity bills.”

“What about rent? …He always made sure rent was paid on time. Or… I think he did. I am fairly sure we uh…” Mac’s face screws up, “We rented… I don’t think we _owned_ the apartment… But uh, I don’t know I never paid attention.”

“Oh yeah,” Dee waves a hand in the air, “Frank pays rent for all of us. I’m just trying to get the power back on at your place so you can get the shit out of here!”

Except Mac doesn’t leave. It pisses her off to no end. Some excuse about being lonely, being too sad to be in the same place where Dennis isn’t, or some other depressing shit that’s hard to listen to when Mac keeps trying to justify it as a unique blend of badass behaviour. Charlie keeps ragging on about where The Waitress is going to live and honestly Dee’s idea is going to do a favour to both Charlie _and_ Frank. _And_ , she’s doing Mac a favour too. Otherwise she’d have spent all this time setting up all the periodic bill payments for nothing. They should be thanking her. And the fact that they’re not is all the more reason to keep things from them.

 

It’s been months and Dee is sick of _everything_. She had thought that by now, she’d have Dennis’ company shares under her belt and that she’d be the one with her feet up in the office. At which point she’d be making so much money from Frank’s successful business venture that she could purchase a new desk chair that doesn’t smell like Frank’s farts, and she could buy a whole new wardrobe and pay for some other person to do the bartending and she could just sit back and reap the profit.

Instead, she’s getting rashes on her hands from washing them so many times, she has no shares, Charlie – of all people – is the one putting his feet up, _and_ , on top of everything, she can’t shake Mac out of her apartment. The only good thing about the whole thing is how many girls flirt with her over the bar. Too bad none of them are hot enough to match up, and the hot guys don’t have any time for her anyway. She’s not complaining about the attention either way. Still, she does have a plan to fix the rest of her problems. She’s been sitting on this nest egg of information, waiting on the perfect time to use it in order to gain her rightful position. And now that she’s realizing that when Charlie gives her pep talks, it’s not because she’s assuming some kind of throne, it’s because Charlie’s tricking her into working. And sweet baby Jesus, does Dee hate work.

 

She faces the fact that it’s about time that she should tell Mac when she walks in on him praying to God. Kneeling down at the foot of her bed, elbows on the mattress, head in his hands. She had only heard the end of his prayer but she’d never heard him sound so _desperate_. On top of that, Dee was feeling increasingly guilty about ratting out Dennis7 because there she was thinking that Mac had finally got it together after real Dennis abandoned them all. However, Dennis7 was apparently the only thing that was keeping Mac together. So with that in mind, she probably should have predicted the kind of response she received when she finally tells Mac what she’s been keeping from him all this time.

“YOU BITCH!” Mac scowls.

“I’m sorry I never told you!” Dee insists, raising both hands as Mac took to pacing the floor.

He clenches his hands like he’s strangling the air, “Why the _shit_ didn’t you tell me Dennis’ new number until now?” He turns to growl at her, “You piece of shit!”

Dee tries to put a hand on Mac’s shoulder, like Dennis used to do, but it definitely doesn’t help. “It’s not like he ever called us! He never _once_ called me! I’m his _twin_! I’m as hurt as you are!”

Spit flies from Mac’s mouth as he shouted, “SCREW YOU DEE!”

He grabs out his cell and hits call on the number Dee had forwarded to him. The number of rings that he waits through feels like eternity, as if all the times he had called Dennis before on his old number has been combined into one sitting. And then it goes to voicemail.

Dee can hear it loud and clear.

“Hiya, ya’ve called Don Chumph, Bemidji’s most sought after personal trainer! Sorry I missed your call, leave a message and I’ll get back to you - only if there’s a booking available! Okay, uh, is that the e-”

Mac holds the cell away from him as if it’s an alien object. Tries to crush it in his palm with his brute force. He doesn’t look at Dee when he speaks. “Is this some kind of joke?!”

“No I swear that’s the number Mandy sent me.”

“FORWARD IT AGAIN DEE.”

Flustered, she scrolls too far back in her correspondence with Mandy, eventually arriving back at the message containing Dennis’ number and sends it to Mac again.

“She just kept calling me Mac! I thought she was some kind of crazy bitch. I didn’t want to answer after she had called so many times in a row. Send a damn text if you’ve got something to say!”

Mac stops dialling. “You ever stopped to think that maybe it was _Dennis_ using Mandy’s phone to contact us?!”

“Well why did he get a new number?!” Dee snaps back. “Couldn’t he just get a new cell with his old number?”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER. YOU KEPT THIS FROM ME FOR _MONTHS_ DEE I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

Dee jumps on top of her bed and scrambles back, holding her arms up in defence as she shouts back, “I COULDN’T JUST TELL YOU MAC, IT WAS MY ONLY LEVERAGE.”

“LEVERAGE?! FOR WHAT??”

“For taking over the gang!”

Mac runs his hands through his hair, “Did you think for even a _second_ that keeping this from me, from all of us, would help you…” He pauses, locking eyes with her and he’s so angry that he laughs, “… _become_ Dennis?”

Dee barks, “I didn’t want to _become_ him I’m his twin sister it’s – I don’t even have to – I’m already – I wasn’t the one who brought in a bunch of carbon copies of him!”

“I wasn’t-“ Mac’s face feels hot, “That’s not what I was doing, I was going to go to jail Dee!”

Dee stops, “What?”

Mac bares his teeth, hissing in air, trying to stay calm, “The cops were on my tail because of the RPG and the rockets. I knew it was a bad idea to use the rocket out in the street. We should have driven to a forest or something. Somewhere where nobody goes or can snitch on our activity.” Mac gasps mid-sentence. “I bet Cricket was the one who snitched on me to clean up his own trail! That’s why he-”

“Wait,” Dee sits up, “So your scheme was to rat out a different Dennis?! Oh that is so _good_ I thought it was a coping mechanism.”

“Coping mechanism?” Mac derides, “Like I need to cope with anything. I’m _fine_ Dee.”

Dee glances at her dresser where she’s hid her newest bag of coke. Yeah, they’re all doing just fine.

“Well why didn’t you tell me that’s what you were up to, Mac? You guys _never_ let me in on your schemes! THIS IS WHY I NEEDED LEVERAGE!”

“THAT’S NOT A GOOD REASON!” Mac cries.

“THE HELL IT IS!” Dee replies, “You guys exclude me from everything! I did what I could with what I had. How does it feel now, Mac? To be _excluded_ from this information for so long?”

“You bitch!” Mac growls as goes back to dialling the number again.

It goes straight to the same chipper voicemail. Mac pegs the cell phone at the wall and it smashes to pieces.

Dee laughs dryly. “That hussy. She got back at me. The day before she left, I gave her my number instead of yours and she comes back at me with-“

“YOU WHAT?!”

“Oh shit.”

“YOU CRAZY SON OF A BITCH WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“OH YOU THINK I’M CRAZY?!” Dee starts, jumping off the bed and shoving her face in front of Mac’s, “YOU COME IN HERE ACCUSING ME OF SHIT. You better stand back because I’m GOING TO BURN YOU SO HARD that you’re going to have third degree burns. Dennis, that _DICKBAG_ , CAN RECITE YOUR NUMBER IN HIS SLEEP AND THE FACT THAT HE HAS _NEVER_ ONCE CALLED YOU IS PROOF OF HOW _THREATENED_ HE FEELS BY YOU. YEAH. After all these years, you’ve been skirting around being in the closet and out and in and you’re finally out for real this time and what does Dennis do? Your best friend Dennis? He runs off to live a suburban life which we _all_ know he’s probably hating the shit out of. But he won’t admit it because of YOU, Mac. Yeah. How does that feel knowing that Dennis would rather run away and cut off all ties than live a second longer in a life where he has no _choice_ but to be with you.”

She stares Mac down. Foreheads pressed together. Teeth bared and sweat rolling down her face and her fists clenched so tight that she’s probably made herself bleed. And then she sees the hurt in her friend’s face. Sees him falter, step back, and start walking out. And even though she feels like she’s sinking into a void where guilt is the only way to live, she still yells out, “YEAH YOU LEAVE YOU PATHETIC SACK OF CRAP! About time I got my apartment to myself! NEVER COME BACK!”

The front door slams shut and she slumps down on her bed again, takes a pillow into her mouth and screams. She lays there for a long time, rattled by her own rage and her body shaking and the trembling doesn’t stop. She grits her teeth around the pillow trying to focus on the good stuff. On the fact that she has her apartment back again. That this time it might be permanent.

Except she can’t get Mac’s torn face out of her mind.

She went too far. She always takes things too far.

She scrambles to the dresser and pulls out her stash. Resistance against evil has never been her strong suit.


	18. The Golden God

He stands in front of the tall arched doorway. In one hand he holds a bottle of beer nestled within a brown paper bag. The paper is scrunched up around the neck of the bottle from being wrung so many times, and when Mac drains the bottle of the last drops, he grips the neck so tight that the paper rips. He burps loudly, then leans the empty bottle in the shredded bag against the stone half wall surrounding the church.

He isn’t actually that mad at her. He just didn’t want to break the image of him being a total badass and have her see him tear up. And he thinks he feels so torn up inside because Dee’s basically right. He’ll never admit it to her, though. He just wishes he had someone to talk to about all of this. Dennis was always there for him when he needed to sort out his brain. He tries calling Dennis again but hangs up before he can hear the dial drop out, and turns his phone off completely. He considers going back to Dee’s apartment but he knows that at this stage, Dee’s temper is going to get out of hand against his and Mac will only end up walking out again. He thinks about seeing what Charlie is up to on this fine evening, except that he doesn’t want to bother him in case he’s made to witness another one of The Waitress’ rants.

So he’s kind of on his own, and when there’s been no one around him to listen to him, his heart has always told him to go to confessional. The devil anchors his feet to the threshold of the church. Memories of temptation and praying to God to wipe his slate clean. Club music calls to him from down the street. He’s inclined to listen to his gut telling him the world is going to have to love him the way he is. He’s tried his whole life to be who he thought he should be. Ignored what everyone else told him he already was. There just isn’t any point in fighting the truth, no matter how much he wants to believe in the falsities he puts up for himself.

A car rolls down the street behind him, loud music playing out the open windows, a flash of light illuminating the stained glass windows in the church. He bites his lip. He misses Dennis. He misses his best friend so freaking much but if he’s mad at anyone, he’s mad at Dennis the most. It’s not Mac’s responsibility to search the whole world for a guy who was given the opportunity to have something Mac is so sure they’ve _both_ wanted for over a decade, and the first thing he does is run away? That’s on Dennis. If Dennis isn’t badass enough to admit to who he really is, then it’s not Mac’s problem. If Dennis wants to run off to North Dakota, stay out of contact and impossible to find, then screw him.

Screw him!

No more questions for a guy who doesn’t want to be found. Mac doesn’t need that soul crushing emptiness. What he needs is to get plastered and hopefully find some beefcake who can crush him.

Mac turns away from the arches dipped in gold and heads further down 13th street toward the night clubs. God will have to buy into Mac Mcdonald, openly gay and single and looking for love. There’s no going back.

 

He wakes up with his body feeling as stony as the asphalt beneath him. A red sky lifts like the inviting eyes of the devil over the horizon. A black cloud shredding on the crowns of the high rises. He hadn’t wanted to go back to Dee’s. He had planned on taking a beefcake back to his apartment but he’d chickened out in the end. The guy was ripped though. The guy totally let Mac suck him off in the alley way – oh yeah, he’s so good at it too. Absolute born natural pro. Mac only felt sinful because he’d sworn to forget about Dennis, and yet the dim lighting in the alley way was enough to accentuate the angles in the guy’s face and, in his stupor, Mac allowed himself to pretend that the beefcake was Dennis.

It’s in his waking hangover that he recalls the sentiments from before he’d walked into the arms of a body builder. Dennis is a weak man. It’s taken being away from Dennis for so long for Mac to realize how strong he can be without Dennis. How confident he can be. How he can take what he wants and what he needs. Beloved and adored by dudes, held in thick arms and fucked and validated. Dennis held him back. For years. In a pseudo relationship, one sided and thirsty and the closer he got to something good, the farther away Dennis became.

Essentially it’s Dennis’ fault. Or that’s what he’ll keep telling himself until someone else will point out otherwise.  

He digs his phone out from his back pocket. Switches it on. It takes forever to come back to life. The sun lifts bright and golden while his phone loads, and briefly he thinks of Dennis’ glowing skin illuminated by the morning sun any time Mac had the pleasure of sharing a bed with Dennis. He frowns at his phone. The white screen banks up with missed call logs, filling with nearly a hundred missed calls. So many from Dee. A few from Charlie too. And even a couple from Frank. He swipes the notifications away and accidentally answers an incoming call from Charlie.

“Mac? MAC?!”

Mac winces. Punches down the volume before he brings the phone up to his ear. “Have you been calling off the hook or something?”

“Oh my god dude.” There’s a muffling noise, then Charlie’s voice continues, a little quieter this time, “Where are you?”

Mac runs a hand through his hair, “I’m on 13th street.”

“The God end or the gay club end?”

Mac frowns, “Uh… both?’

Dee’s voice sounds distant, “Ask him how much glitter he has on!”

“Dee, not so loud! God! Okay, Mac, do you have any glitter on you?”

“Oh dude,” Mac looks down at his body, “A shit load.”

“He’s been to the Rainbow, Locust Street on 13th,” Dee insists.

“Shit dude, did you use a condom? I know condoms blow but you gotta use ‘em dude you gotta be safe I would-“

“-Shut up bro! Just come get me,” Mac snaps, “I’ll kill you if you bring The Waitress.”

He hangs up, then drags himself out of the alley and perches on a closed shop front porch as he waits for his lift to arrive. Humid air clings to him, rubs against his temples, a headache throbbing at the pace of rubbish scattering along the sidewalk in the wind. After an indeterminate amount of time, he spots Dee’s car creeping down the street and he stands up. She pulls up in front of him and Charlie jumps out of the back to help Mac in.

They don’t move off straight away and when he hears sniffling coming from Dee in the seat in front of him, his stomach drops. Distilling alcohol churns against the dry walls of his stomach, like his insides have been burnt through and cooled to a crisp, hot coals slowly boiling through the last of the liquids in the pit.

“Did something happen?” Mac wheezes.

Charlie sounds shrill, “Dee thought you’d killed yourself.”

“WHAT?!” Mac and Dee exclaim at the same time.

“I DIDN’T SAY THAT CHARLIE!” Dee snaps.

“That’s a sin, Dee,” Mac says, the tension from before dissolving, leaving only the pains of his hangover.

Charlie tilts his head, “So is, you know, butt stuff, Mac.”

“Shut up,” Mac replies.

He look at Dee in the mirror but she’s glaring out the front window, a pensive look on her face like she’s about to say something. Mac’s kind of expecting a verbal apology for what Dee had said to him the night before, but having her pick him up after a big night makes it all about equal.

Dee jerks the car into action and lurches the car out onto the street. Mac grips the door handle for something to stable himself against Dee’s haphazard driving. He gazes out of the window, his vision looking more blurry due to his hangover, Dee’s driving, and the glass being stained with hand prints and water droplets. Hangovers just aren’t the same for him as they were when he was twenty or so years younger, but he doesn’t want to let the gang know he isn’t hard enough to put up with a bad one so he pretends he’s not so affected by it.

“Charlie, you didn’t think I’d killed myself, did you?”

Charlie shrugs, “I mean you’ve tried before.”

“Not for real though! And that was with you!”

Charlie shrugs again and Dee makes a worried noise in her throat.

“I’m fine you guys,” Mac insists, crossing his arms, “I’m badass. Badass dudes don’t try to kill themselves.”

“Unless you’re Country Mac and can jump off bridges and _survive_ ,” Charlie replies in awe.

Mac rolls his eyes despite the action giving him the spins, “He wasn’t _trying_ to kill himself though.”

“Dude he jumped off a bridge, if that’s not trying I don’t-“

“Charlie you’re not getting it,” Mac huffs, chopping one hand against his other, “There’s nothing badass in intentional suicide. It’s a _sin_! True badass dudes don’t try to kill themselves!”

“Okay by your standards, to be badass you just need to _appear_ badass. Country Mac wasn’t _trying_ to kill himself when he threw himself off Strawberry bridge, but he knew the danger, he knew it _could_ happen and didn’t _let_ himself die If that's not badass to you, I don't understand what you think is badass.”

Mac pouts. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t even going above 10mph and still smashed his head in.” Mac runs his hands through his hair and glares into the darkness between his legs and the seat in front of him. “It’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Nah he was so massively cool that his badassery killed him.” Charlie crosses his chest the wrong way, “Rest in peace.”

Mac doesn’t bother correcting him, feeling jealous of his cousin beyond the grave even though there’s _nothing_ badass about being dead. He rubs his temples, his headache pounding. “You know what _else_ is badass? Shutting the hell up.”

The three of them sit in silence while Dee takes them off 13th street. The silence is only broken when Dee sniffs so loudly that it sounds like a snort. She starts to speak softly, “Mac, I’m sor-“

Mac snaps his eyes open and sighs heavily, “SHUT UP-,” then adds, out of habit more than anything, “-Bird.”

Dee huffs and changes her voice from soft to hard in a pinch, “You _ungrateful_ son of a bitch.” She slams her foot on the brakes, causing Mac and Charlie to lurch forwards in their seats.

“What the shit Dee?” Mac exclaims, clutching his head.

“DEE!” Charlie shouts, “DON’T DO IT.”

Dee starts clocking the steering wheel around amidst other drivers honking at her. “I do SO much for you assholes and I get NOTHING in return-“

“This isn’t just about last night, is it?” Mac replies, “It’s about the shares, isn’t it?”

Dee hammers the accelerator and she screeches as the car speeds down the street.

“Do you WANT him to try and kill himself again Dee?” Charlie shrieks.

“CLEARLY HE WASN’T TRYING TO KILL HIMSELF CHARLIE.”

“He was on the gay side, Dee. Not the God side!”

“I don’t give a shit about what side he was on nut sacks! It’s about time he sees what’s really going on here!!”

The whole car sways as Charlie wedges himself between the two front chairs and tries to turn the steering wheel. Mac clutches his stomach, bile lurching up to his throat. Dee swats Charlie away, the motion causing the car to sway again.

“I’m going to throw up,” Mac gasps.

“ASSHOLES. ALL OF YOU. ASSHOLES!”

“DEE TURN AROUND!” Charlie shouts exasperatedly, then glares wildly at Mac, “He’s not ready!”

“ _He’s_ not ready?” Dee scoffs, “You had a whole damn _month_ to sort it out. Your time is up shit stain.”

“IT’S REALLY NOT A GOOD TIME, DEE!” Charlie insists.

“YOU THINK I GIVE A SHIT?!”

“Ugh seriously slow down Dee, I’m going to puke in your hair if you don’t,” Mac wheezes, clutching his stomach.

“It’s not going to help if you take him back now!” Charlie insists, still trying to kill them all by messing with the steering wheel.

Dee sends him a glare in the rear view mirror, “YOU’RE GOING TO THANK ME MAC. I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU DON’T, I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF! AND LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT, IF YOU TRY THAT SHIT WITH DISAPPEARING AGAIN I’LL SLIT YOUR NECK AND LIGHT YOU ON FIRE AND YOUR BLOOD WILL BE SO THICK WITH ALCOHOL THAT YOU’LL IGNITE DAMN IT. YOUR BONES WILL BURN AND YOU’LL BE UNRECOGNISABLE. THERE’LL BE NOTHING LEFT TO BURY.”

Mac blinks.

He can’t hold back anymore. He grabs an article of Dee’s clothing bedding beneath his feet and barfs into the bundle of it. He feels immediately better afterwards, so he rolls down the window and chucks the whole thing out the window. He recognises the buildings that they’re driving passed and comments, “Oh you’re taking me to my apartment?” He sinks in the seat, closing his eyes. “Thank _God_ , I am _over_ your shitty shower Dee, it’s _so_ gross. How do you even have hair on your head when every morning there’s a thick ass clump of hair bunched around the drain it’s disgusting.”

“I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO CLEAN IT MAC, I told you it goes down on its own,” Dee says, slowing down for a red light. “Charlie! I WILL RAM INTO A FAMILY CAR IF YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN. DO YOU WANT THE DEATH OF CHILDREN ON YOUR HANDS HUH?”

“He wishes,” Mac quips.

“AURGHGHH!” Charlie shrieks and jumps out of the car entirely.

Mac sits back, frowning, and watches his friend run around the front of the car. The traffic around them beeps at Charlie as the man hurdles down the road toward Mac’s apartment. Dee scowls as she sits at the lights and when the light finally turns green, she moves off down the narrow street to find a parking spot.

Sheepishly, Mac asks, “Did you really think I’d killed myself Dee?”

He waits for her reply. Dee doesn’t answer. Keeps driving down the street until she finds a spot she can wedge her small car into. Then she comes around to the back door and helps Mac out. He doesn’t need help but he accepts it by slinging his arm over her shoulders. They walk slowly down the sidewalk, Mac unbewildered by Charlie’s sudden departure and in fact more concerned with whether or not Dee still thinks he’s super badass.

“I really am moving passed it,” Mac tries to convince her, “The whole thing.”

“Yeah hitting a gay club that isn’t ours sure shows it,” Dee quips.

“Ours?” Dee laughs and keeps walking, but Mac makes her stop. “No wait, what do you mean?”

Dee sighs, “Believe it or not, while you were angsting about Dennis, you accidentally made Paddy’s into a gay bar.”

Mac squints at her, “Uh, I let hot girls in all the time.”

“Yeah, they’re gay too, Mac.”

Mac squints even more.

Dee rolls her eyes and hooks an arm around Mac’s waist to tug him along, “Come on, the drag shows Frank puts on aren’t enough of a blatant hint? No? The crowd we get? The _music_ we play? How can you have still not… you really are an idiot Mac. You _should_ be in jail.”

She laughs and Mac’s hangover is still extremely unsettling so he would like to attribute it to his apparent kindness towards Dee. Or it’s that he doesn’t know how to talk to Dee without Dennis looming his hatred for his sister over Mac’s shoulders. “Thanks for taking me back, Dee. I know it’s, uh, been long overdue.”

“You owe me a chiropractor bill,” Dee says, nudging Mac’s side.

“Only if you show me how to pay it,” He retorts.

“Oh yeah, I know your bank details now I’ll just charge it to you straight up.”

“So you _are_ becoming Dennis.”

She nudges him again and when they get to the corner just before Mac’s apartment, they stop. He isn’t quite sure which one of them made them stop but Mac’s grateful for it. He leans against the brick wall, his heart drumming and throat panting and shit does he need a glass of water. He looks at Dee who’s as sweaty as he is, and has somehow amassed a collection of glitter on her clothes and a splotch on her cheek. He thinks about taking Dee out one time. Before, Dennis would never let his sister near them when they would go out to try and pick up girls. Now it’s Mac trying to pick up boys and having Dee along might actually help since she’s so pitifully ugly and all.

“Yeah,” Mac speaks airily but his heart clenches anyway when he says, “Dennis could be dead for all I care.”

“I am so furious with my brother that if I do ever see his face again,” Dee fumes, raising her fist, “I’ll _pulverise_ him.”

“Sometimes I forget how intense you can get Dee.”

“I have Big Feelings,” she says in a mocking tone, but her glittery face drops quickly when she spots the look that Mac tries to hide. “Are you sure you’re fine with going back to your apartment? I’m pretty sure some of his stuff is still…”

She trails off. Mac wants to say yes but he only nods.

She holds his gaze for a long moment then says, “Come back to mine. Just for a few more nights, it’ll be for the best.”

Mac submits to her offer but before they can head back towards her car, he hears a commotion down the street closer to the stairwell to his apartment. He recognises the voices, so out of curiosity he pops his head around the corner and sees Charlie and a scrubby man – who is undoubtedly cricket – arguing loudly in front of Mac’s apartment block. Any other day, with the kind of hangover he’s dealing with, he would just walk away, except that he notices what exactly they’re arguing about. The Ass Pounder 4000 lays half in and half out of the stairwell, Charlie and Cricket both kicking and punching each other as Charlie tries to push it up and Cricket tries to drag it away.

Mac shrugs off Dee’s arm and bolts down to them, so ready to high jump kick Cricket in the freaking face but first he needs answers.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Mac exclaims as he arrives at the scene of the crime.

Charlie and Cricket seem to ignore him, still fighting over push and pulling the bike this way and that. The movement causes the pedals on the bike to spin, enabling the tiny fist to eject from the bike seat at the end of each cycle.

Mac’s face burns. Dee comes running up behind him and he half turns to her, fists clenched as he growls, “Dee, did you know about this?!”

Dee grimaces, “Ah er-” then promptly starts retching.

“LET GO CRICKET!” Charlie shrieks, trying to tip the whole bike over in an attempt to get Cricket out of the way.

“IT’S MINE,” Cricket shouts, “FINDERS KEEPERS!”

Mac goes to help get Cricket’s filthy hands off his invention, “How the hell did you break into my apartment Cricket I’ll kill you!”

“I didn’t do anything illegal!” Cricket snaps, then stomps on Mac’s foot, “Aeurgh God damn steel caps!” Cricket jumps away from the bike, clutching his foot. “Why don’t you leave that on the street for me too huh _pal_? I need a new pair of boots. Come on, we had a good partnership you and I, do an ally a favour.”

“No,” Mac replies, revolted.

With Cricket’s hands off, Charlie is able to yank the bike up a couple more steps until Cricket decides to ignore the pain in his bare feet and latch back onto the bike again.

“I FOUND IT ON THE STREET! Street rules means fingers keepers! This is going to do so much for me Charlie I NEED IT.”

Mac steps back now, “Guys, what did he mean when he said he _found_ my invention _on the street_?”

Charlie pulls at his hair, “DEE YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED?? I TOLD YOU I NEED JUST _TWO_ MORE DAYS!”

“TWO?!” Dee responds, “You told me you needed one day two weeks ago!!!”

Mac’s stomach twists. He pushes passed Charlie and Dee and darts up the stairs despite his friend’s frantic calls after him to get him to stop. He has an awful feeling, like maybe Dennis has been hiding out in their apartment the whole time and everyone knew except him. When he get to his floor, there’s boxes and clothes and all kinds of stuff all strewn down the hallway. Stuff he recognises. His stuff. Dennis’ stuff. Amongst someone else’s and he feels like he’s swallowed dry rocks because for a moment he entertains his previous thought as truth. It would explain a lot really.

Except the truth of what’s been happening within his apartment the whole time he’s been absent from it is more than upsetting.

“YOU DOUCHEBAG!” The Waitress screams at him the moment he emerges in the doorway to his own apartment, “YOU CAN’T KICK ME OUT! YOU DON’T EVEN LIVE HERE ANYMORE!”

The colour in Mac’s face drains when he sees the state of his apartment. It looks comparably worse than the hallway. Everything in disarray, or missing, or replaced with The Waitress’ dumb shit.

The Waitress waddles around the apartment throwing things into boxes as she screams at him, “LOOK AT ME! I’M SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT!! YOU CAN’T KICK A PREGNANT WOMAN OUT ON THE STREETS! WHO THE SHIT ARE YOU?!”

Mac ignores her and rushes into Dennis’ bedroom to see if it’s still intact. He doesn’t like what he sees.

He might be crying but he’s also absolutely furious when he berates her, “Why the hell are you so obsessed with him?!”

The Waitress rests her hands on her hips and laughs dryly, “That’s a good question, Mac, WHY ARE YOU?!”

Mac swallows, “I’m not obs-“

“NEITHER AM I!” The Waitress snaps, “I never was! I mean, maybe I was a little bit but I’m not anymore! The only reason why I’m here is because Frank still hasn’t cashed out on a more appropriate living arrangement for me. I don’t _want_ to be here!”

“THEN WHY HAVE YOU RUINED EVERYTHING?!” Mac yells at her.

He can’t deal with her crisis right now. She’s touched his stuff. She’s moved everything. She’s probably even thrown stuff out. And the Ass Pounder 4000 has been outside for God knows how long and touched by filthy homeless people and it’s all too much.

He darts into the bathroom and grips the sink as he starts to dry heave. There’s sounds of Charlie and Dee complaining loudly about the Ass Pounder 4000 being so God damned heavy as they drag it down the hallway, kicking boxes and anything else out of their way. Mac tips his head back and blinks away tears. He should be over this by now. It’s been months.

He stands up. Steps out into the living room and he tells everyone to get out. By this time Dee and Charlie have dragged the heavy piece of equipment into the middle of the room, articles of clothing and shredded boxes all caught on the pedals and ripped up into the spokes of the wheels and The Waitress keeps chirping at him about the injustice of it all and he just does not care. He screams at them all again, and for a third time in case they hadn’t heard them. Pushes them out. Slams the door shut and sinks to the floor and the moment that they’re all gone he punches the ground until the skin over his knuckles breaks and he bleeds as freely as his eyes.


	19. Sweet and Sour Dee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters out today :)

Dee stretches her hands and feet to the four corners of her bed and sighs in relief that she finally has her bed back to herself. Except that she feels really, _really_ bad about Mac and it’s taking everything she’s got not to turn to asking Cricket for more coke. So she drinks.

Sure, they can all be dicks to each other but it was definitely too much for Mac to take in the span of 24 hours. She only comes to realize this though when Mac doesn’t come into work for four days in a row. Charlie’s furious. More so than usual because The Waitress is driving him insane about having to sleep on the fold out couch with Charlie _and_ Frank. And Dee’s twice as furious because there’s no one to limit the flow of foot traffic which means she has to work twice as hard to get the orders out and she can’t damn well do it on her own. She has half the heart to call The Waitress down and put her to work too. She’s sure Charlie wouldn’t mind. It would mean The Waitress would be spewing her hormonal bullshit to other people who would likely be more sympathetic than all of the gang put together. It sounds like a really good plan, except that it would mean Dee actually exchanging words with The Waitress and she has been trying to avoid that bitch for as long as possible.

Something has to be done though. She’s had way too many bottle caps pop straight into her eyes for her to give a shit if Mac is still crying over Dennis or not. If there’s a competition on who is in the most amount of pain, she’s pretty damn sure she’d win. She’s got two black eyes to show for it and not enough tips to pay for both.

She gets up and finishes the beer in her fridge, then goes to see Mac.

He’s in a bad way. Curled up on the couch, a million trillion beer bottles all amassed around the couch it’s a wonder how Mac hasn’t shattered them all like dominos yet. She grabs a garbage bag and starts tidying up. She’s careful not to touch any of Mac and Dennis’ possessions because she suspects Mac will probably go ape shit on her. He’s so weird that way. So particular about how things need to be. She knew it and she’d been the one to steal Mac’s key and make a copy of it for The Waitress. It was only so she wouldn’t have yet another person crashing in her place. There was no way Mac was going to sleep in the same bed as The Waitress and there was no way that The Waitress was going to accept the couch which meant that it would have to be The Waitress and Dee in the same bed and there was no way in hell Dee was allowing that to happen. Hence the key stealing.

And did she regret it?

Yeah, a little.

She hadn’t thought through how worked up Mac would get about it. Of course he would though.

She clears a path in the bottles and drags the bag over to the door. The bottles clank together and she’s certain Mac would have awoken but he seems to be in deep sleep. An arm lays across the back of the couch, knuckles scuffed up and bloody. She pops into the bathroom to find the first aid kit and comes back into the living room with equipment in hand. She sits down on the arm of the couch, reaches over and brings Mac’s hand over close enough to fix it up.

Mac twitches like he’s having a nightmare. She finishes the bandaging and lays Mac’s hand across his side. Takes out some extra gauze and dabs it across Mac’s forehead. He looks so pale. Probably hasn’t eaten anything proper in days. Maybe the smell of food will wake him up. She gets up and has a look in the fridge except all that’s there is empty boxes of pizza and an expired milk bottle all thick and congealed. She has a look in the cupboards. More expired food and questionable unlabelled cans. A small bag of white powder sits wedged behind a white can. Dee grits her teeth, hand hovering, then shuts the cupboard door and opens the next one. This one’s full of baby food. Either The Waitress stocking up or part of her cravings. Dee recalls craving weird shit when she was pregnant too.

She grabs out a can of something with a cute cartoon on the packaging and starts heating what looks to be some kind of yellow-green soup in pot over the stove. The apartment still looks like shit. Charlie Kelly style shit hole. Probably looks like how Mac feels like on the inside. Dee too. Mac’s not the only one who’s so messed up about Dennis abandoning them. After Dennis left, too much stuff changed, and not for the better. Dee can’t remember the last time she felt anything other than anger. She’s just better at containing herself than Mac, clearly.

There’s a clatter of glass and a groan and Dee glances over her shoulder to see Mac sitting up.

“What’s that _smell_?” Mac slurs.

“Like it?” Dee says, watching Mac inspect the handiwork she’d applied on his busted up fist.

“No,” Mac replies, scrunching up his face, “Smells like shit.”

“You smell like shit,” Dee snaps.

She pours the baby food into a bowl and brings it and a spoon over to Mac. Sets it down on the coffee table before taking a seat beside Mac.

“What are you doing here?” Mac asks as he glares at the bowl of steaming baby food.

“Trying to get you back to work, buddy.”

Mac throws himself back on the couch, clutching his head, “I don’t want to go back to work!”

“Yeah well neither do I, Mac, but you know what? You have to.”

“I _own_ the bar I don’t _have_ to do anything!”

Dee punches Mac in the thigh, causing the man to sit up and clutch it with both hands.

“Man up asshole.”

Mac keeps rubbing his thigh and scowls at Dee, “Why should I?”

Dee rolls her eyes. “Because we need you Mac.”

Mac blinks, “I don’t give a shit.”

Dee sighs exaggeratedly, “Look. I get it. You’re pissed at Dennis.”

“I’M PISSED AT YOU GUYS FOR LETTING THAT FAT BITCH INTO MY APARTMENT!”

“She’s not fat she’s just pregnant.”

“Dude, she’s fat!” Mac retorts.

“She is fat,” Dee admits, “But-“

“And ugly!” Mac grabs the bowl of baby food and starts to slurp it down between angry statements, “And she touched my stuff! And she threw shit away! _And_ she left The Ass Pounder 4000 on the _street_!”

Dee looks around the apartment briefly, “Yeah where is that thing?”

Mac slurps on the lumpy soup, “I let Cricket take it back. It already had gross crack addict hands all over it.”

“ME AND CHARLIE DRAGGED THAT PILE OF CRAP UP SIX FLIGHTS OF STAIRS FOR YOU!”

“Well you shouldn’t have left it out on the street in the first place!”

“IT WASN’T ME IT WAS CHARLIE!”

“I DON’T CARE WHO DID IT!” Mac screams, going red in the face, “IT SHOULDN’T HAVE LEFT THE GYM ROOM!”

Dee laughs dryly, “The gym room.”

“Well it _was_ the gym room.” Mac gets quiet. “Now nothing in this place looks familiar.”

Dee eyes him, “It’s probably for the best.”

Mac glares at her.

“I’m serious. If you can’t forget about him, you have to _destroy_ him. Get rid of everything that reminds you of Dennis and make this apartment yours.”

“Dee I … I can’t do that.”

“Oh you can’t do that?” Dee gets to her feet. “Let me help you then.”

She wanders over to the bookshelf and grabs a plaster sculpture and smashes it against the ground.

“DEE NO!” Mac exclaims, rushing over to throw his body around the bookshelf like a shield.

Dee snatches anything she can grab from the gaps between Mac and proceeds with smashing the paraphernalia on wooden floor.

“Wait! Don’t, that’s Dennis’ stuff! He’ll kill me!”

“Oh really, he’ll kill you? Where is he? He’s probably dead, like you said. So why can’t we mess up his stuff like he messed us up?”

Dee keeps destroying anything she can get her hands on while maintaining unwavering eye contact with Mac. Mac glares back, wide eyed, then a smile slowly creeps on his face.

 

She guesses it’s inevitable to have The Waitress share an apartment with her because, somehow, her apartment has become a free for all for not-so temporary tenants. She remembers Frank saying that The Waitress could live in Mac’s apartment only temporary while he sorted something out for her. Keyword: Temporary. Yet she’d lived there for close to six months without another option arising. Got quite comfortable too.

No one in the gang particularly cared where The Waitress lived so long as it wasn’t with one of them. Dee knew that revealing to Mac where The Waitress had been living would upset the balance of things. That was the point. She had hoped it would mean The Waitress would go back to Charlie’s apartment, and that Charlie and Frank would take Dee seriously about taking over Dennis’ shares. The Waitress did live at Charlie’s, for a while. The transference of the shares was, however, never considered, probably because the minute The Waitress set foot in Charlie’s apartment again, she wouldn’t stop complaining.

There’s a hole in the hallway of Dee’s apartment to make an example of when Dee realised she had been played. The guys did some kind of backwards business talk on her to get her thinking she would be able to get her foot in the door if she took The Waitress in.

The morning after the first night The Waitress spends in Dee’s apartment, Dee gets out all her chiropractor bills and puts each one in Mac’s name and posts them off. She decides that if this is how it’s going to be, she’s going to do everything in her power to make sure that no one has any reason to be in her space anymore. Which means she has to do Frank’s job of finding The Waitress a place to live by the time her baby is due. And there’s barely any time left for that, but by her shattered teeth and bones she’s going to get it done. She might need a bit of smack to get her going though.

 

Mac is back on duty but he’s only helpful with foot traffic control when he’s not too distracted by the cute guys who flirt with him. All Dee gets are ugly girls hitting on her and customers harassing her for orders when it’s literally only her mixing. Can’t they see she’s working her ass off? The thing is, Dee can’t stand to be in the same room as the moody bitch for more than one second. The closer it gets to The Waitress giving birth to a demon child, the crazier everyone around her becomes. As if Dee doesn’t already have enough to be mad about. She’d been avoiding The Waitress and staying back at the bar as long as she could. Most nights it meant working extra hours unintentionally. Others, she ends up chatting with the performers who are, again, never as interested in her as they are with Mac or Charlie. Even Artemis gets a few hits which only adds salt to the wound. But as the reality of the fact that The Waitress might be bringing an additional life into Dee’s apartment dawns her, she puts aside socialising in favour of browsing rental places in Philadelphia any free moment she can get.

Of course, that whole thing ends when someone decides to steal her shitty laptop, a Dell circa 2013. She rages at Frank and all she gets is him suggesting she should buy a new laptop, one that doesn’t weigh the weight of a newborn and that’s exactly the problem. Frank doesn’t seem to be moving towards doing _anything_ that he’d promised. He’s too busy counting his money to spend it. Charlie screams at her before she can even open her mouth. Mac’s doing just _fine_. And Dee has the freaking Waitress right up her ass and she has nothing good going for her. _Nothing_.

Dee bares her teeth. She throws the shaker tins into the ice bucket, ignores customers pawing at her to take their orders and she heads for the stage. She pushes the guitarist away, the bright lights warm on her hot skin and she seizes the microphone.

And screams.

At the top of her lungs. For a solid minute.

People start to slow clap for some reason, which only enrages her. They should be afraid. They should be as offended as she is. They should run out clutching their ears. But they’re _clapping_. So she takes in a deep breath and screams again. One long howl. Eyes popping. Spit flaying. Off stage she can see Frank running up to the edge waving his hands back and forth but screw Frank. She’ll ruin his show all she likes.

She fuels her rage into her voice. Thinks about everything that has her tense and hot headed. Thinks about how Frank has done nothing to help anyone except himself. Thinks about The Waitress tasking her with errands when Dee’s dead on her feet from working overtime. Thinks about Charlie and how he thinks he’s taken over the gang and how they still won’t let Dee take some ownership of the bar. Thinks about Mac and how Dennis broke his heart.

Dennis broke her heart too, but she’s more furious with him than she is heartbroken.

She loses her voice dry and gasping and at the end of her screaming she whimpers. Shoulders hunched. A crowd of people in front of her, shadowed by the bright stage lights. And, unexpectedly, they start a loud applause. She stands there, agape, and stumbles off stage in a daze. Frank runs up onto the stage after her and puts the guitarist back to work. Dee still feels woozy, giddy, even. Someone tugs on her arm and she spins around, eyes blurring into focus to look at the guy who had pulled her aside.

“That was _so_ moving,” the guy gushes.

Dee grimaces at him, nodding her head frantically in utter disbelief, and frankly, _annoyance_ , that anyone could like what she’d just done. She’d only screamed her lungs out about stuff she’s furious about every god damned day and somehow people like hearing about it? That has got to be fake. They can’t like anything she’s not even proud of. She needs a hit. Sees a half empty beer on a nearby table and grabs it, sculls it. Frank barrels toward her and snatches the glass out of her hand.

“DEANDRA!” Frank bellows, “WHAT THE HECK GOT INTO YOU?!”

Dee snarls at him. “If you don’t sort out a place for The Waitress to live I will strangle your grandchild the moment it takes its first breath of sweet fresh air!”

“Are you high?!” Frank pulls at his hair. He replies having seemingly ignored what Dee had said, “You couldn’t have screamed in your bedroom with your pillow stuffed in your mouth like the rest of us?”

“DO YOU HAVE SELECTIVE HEARING?!” Dee screams, grabbing Frank by his collar, “RENT THAT BITCH A SHIT BOX – I DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS, I NEED HER OUT! IF YOU DON’T, I WILL BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND. WON’T MATTER TO ME BECAUSE IT’S NOT LIKE I OWN IT!”

The man from before emerges, clearly too inebriated to realise Dee could snap him in two if he made the wrong move. He taps Dee on the shoulder, “Are you a performer?”

Dee drops Frank and turns to glare at the guy.

Frank laughs in a mocking tone, “No she’s my dimwit daughter!”

“You’re kidding,” The man continues, “That was the most incredible work of art I have seen in a long time. I really identified with your passion.”

Dee stops. Looks at this hipster crackhead and frowns at him. “If this is some kind of prank I AM GOING TO SLICE THE ANKLES OF EVERY DAMNED PERSON IN THE STATE I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Vent that rage,” The guy claps.

“Wait, you _like_ that ape shit?” Frank questions, sharing Dee’s grimace.

At that moment, Artemis shoves her way into the small circle the three of them had made and flings her arms around Dee.

“Deandra!” She sings, “I knew you had it in you!” Dee cringes and peels the woman off her. Artemis, dying for someone to celebrate with, grabs the guy by his shoulders and says, “Wasn’t that absolutely heart-wrenching?!”

The guy nods in agreement, then looks over at Dee, “When’s your next set? I need to tell my friends!”

Dee can see the dollar signs lighting up behind Frank’s eyes. He grabs Dee and grins. “She’s on again tomorrow night!”

The guy’s face lights up and he walks away typing something on his phone. Dee flushes inwardly, still a little suspicious about the guy’s sincerity but honestly digging the praise she’s getting for something she can easily repeat again.

“Who _are_ these people?” Dee questions in disbelief, watching Artemis stray into the crowd with her hands coupled to her chest.

“I don’t know and I don’t care who they are, I only care about what they like and if they like you screeching like a monkey then they’ll have it!” Frank reaches up to Dee’s hair and twists a portion in his fingers, “I gotta get the girls to do something with your hair Deandra. It’s so flat.”

Dee swats Frank’s hand away, “The hell if I’m going up there to make _you_ more money Frank!”

“Come on Deandra! You already have _fans_! We work on this, on your whole act… and look… and we can maybe get you that boob job you’ve been needing your whole life. Must have got the flat-chested-ness from that dicknose Bruce’s side of the family, got nothing on your whore mother’s side geez her and her sisters had some jugs!”

“FRANK!” Dee exclaims, but she doesn’t say anything more to protest. Admittedly, she kind of liked getting up on the stage and screaming. If weirdo people liked it, may as well make money from it. “If I end up making you money, I better get a good cut,” Dee says, “80/20.”

Frank laughs, “80/20?? I’m the producer, I gotta pay for you to use the stage-“

“ _Your_ stage??”

“-And for your makeup and your clothes and for someone to take over you at the bar while you wail like a baby!”

“80/20 or no round 2 Frank.”

“Fine, 50/50.”

“70/30,” Dee insists.

“20/80.”

“40/60.”

“Deal!” Frank cries.

“Wait, no. SHIT! The other way around! 60/40! 60/40 GOD DAMN IT!”

“Save it for tomorrow night Deandra,” Frank says as he pushes her back towards the bar, “Now get back to work I’ve got complaints coming out of my ass!”

“GOD DAMN YOU FRANK! _You’ve_ got complaints coming out of your ass?? If I do this-“

“-If you make me money…”

“REGARDLESS if I make you money or not you piece of shit, you HAVE to sort The Waitress out! Or I’ll-“

“I get it! You’re as nuts as your whore mother!”

“I mean it Frank! I will burn bitches! You have three weeks!!”


	20. The green beneath the white

The hardest part about being Don Chumph is that he has to eat. There’s only so much bronzer that can hide his pallid complexion, and there’s a certain point where he has to start taking care of himself to avoid fainting in client’s homes, lest they take advantage of him. He would always eat out in Philadelphia. Spent most of his money on good meals and left the rest for the best meal once a month with his… with Mac. In Bemidji there’s only one decent place to eat that’s open passed 5pm. It’s run by the ex-police chief and Dennis has a feeling that Lou Solverson could see right through him from day one, which doesn’t leave many options for him. He’s always hated cooking too.

Thankfully there’s more of a variety of restaurants in Duluth. Dennis has Helena Stavros to thank for hiring Don Chumph and getting his foot in the door of something better. It’s all because she refuses to set foot in a public gym. Had heard about his rising fame in Bemidji, rightly so, and had requested frequent personal visits to her home in Duluth from Don Chumph himself. Dennis approved, and Don Chumph was more than happy to make a regular home visit to get her into shape, despite the drive.

She tones her legs on a treadmill while Don Chumph paces and critiques her. She doesn’t have a half bad body. Dennis would consider banging her if he could feel anything. Don Chumph would take anything he could get to make a name for himself, even if it means partnering with a queen. Three operating stores. Another being built in the newer crop of suburbs in Bemidji, disfigured by ice and snow, and Helena stands behind the throne of the king, Milos Stavros. A short, pudgy man, fat silver rings on his fingers like he’s the town’s mafia boss. Top of the pyramid in a chain of grocery stores. Laughable, really, that the wealthiest man in Duluth is a servant of the lord, a man who believes he was lead to riches by a prayer.

Lucky for Dennis, Helena Stavros had decided upon a mid-life crisis. A marital separation. Cut a good deal and bought the second largest estate on the outskirts of Duluth. Rooms and rooms filled with art that no one looks at and furniture that no one uses. In his envy, it reminds Dennis of his childhood home. In his greed, Dennis would have the overly sensitive son’s room, Dmitri Stavros, cleared out and converted to a distillery. Don Chumph wouldn’t say anything to Helena but if Dennis could raise his voice he would chastise her. Nothing healthy ever came from a mother who breast fed her child for too long.

Don Chumps instructs Helena to tone her legs on a treadmill. Dumbbells in hand. Grievance boils green in her eyes. She raves on and on about the fortunes of her ex. Grew the green out of luck and devout loyalty and grew a sprawling business, all the while remaining in character as hopeless as he was before she found herself stranded in this cold desert. Death Valley’s polar opposite.

She raves on about the millions enough for Dennis to ditch his idea to wed Don Chumph with Helena and, instead, directly rob Milos of his wealth. Two-timing touch and unbroken bones, unbeknownst by either party that Don Chumph, in his puppeted humility, will be profiting off both husband and wife.

 

For a time, Dennis becomes completely lost in his character. The effect of playing a game for so long that it becomes real. Somewhat. Don Chumph makes pop culture references, shines a dimpled grin when he’s happy and Dennis feels… something. Not guilt. Not love. A lot of hate. He keeps the guise going in hopes of finding out if there’s more to it.

 

It surprises him to see Frank Peterson again in Bemidji.

The man corners him in the supplies closet of Squat Fitness and asks Don Chumph, “Why $43,613?”

Don Chumph was always going to bump it up to a million. Dennis only makes Don Chumph’s demand so specific so that he can see how much Milos is willing to give away. He doesn’t tell Frank Peterson this though. Needs to maintain the guise of a total idiot. Frank Peterson falls for Dennis’ trick as easily as Dennis had fallen for Frank Peterson’s. And upon the man’s monotonous suggestion they team up to con both clients for the biggest reward.

Dennis realizes, after his encounter in the supplies closet, that Frank Peterson had discovered him through an act of carelessness – an in-character pathetic thirst for the sun – that Don Chumph is the man behind the blackmail scheme against Frank Peterson’s client, Milos Stavros. Dennis had hollowed out an obsession with chasing silver snakes in the snowfields, slippery things lost underground. He strives to become more careful so as not to make such an idiotic mistake again.

It means distancing himself from Don Chumph, except it’s harder this time, to remove himself from Don Chumph’s blind, unequivocal trust in a man he just met. He thinks about seeing Mac for that brief moment of time months ago. How Mac had clung to the very next person he could find that resembled Dennis in the minutest of ways. Mac had most certainly been in love with that guy. Why else would Mac have cried that pitifully? Dennis, on the other hand, isn’t infatuated with his stranger, and he’s certainly not afraid of him. And yet, there’s a way about this man, something that compels him with such immense power aside from love. He thinks it must be admiration, insofar as Frank Peterson seems to be on equal footing, if not higher, and Dennis, passively through Don Chumph, seeks to learn from him. Except he never learns the man’s real name. Keeps calling him Frank Peterson as if Don Chumph doesn’t suspect the man of anything else.

Dennis certainly does, but he can’t do much about it. The man behind Frank Peterson wears a coat so oversized that he looks like he could be one of those Russians who peels off layers and layers of clothes and reveals a stick thin, formless body beneath. The coat is like added flesh, extra mass as fake as the fur. Dennis plays another person too but he does a much better job at disguising himself than this Frank Peterson person. Don Chumph is a track suit wearer, goatee sporter, hyper vigilant bronzer and true believer in the good nature of all things. An amalgamation of everything Dennis detests. An extreme version of a man he once loved, naïve and fitness obsessed and oblivious of his undesirable appearance. Dennis wears this man without the weight of that ridiculous coat Frank Peterson wears, and he is unafraid of Frank Peterson’s menace. Projects this fearlessness through Don Chumph’s complete indifference to the danger Frank Peterson caries.

 

He helps Frank Peterson with saturating Milos’ water system with pig’s blood. Some kind of concoction that’s meant to play on Stavros’ reverent fear and make him more pliant to accepting the blackmail. The whole while Don Chump wrings out the large plastic pouch, Frank Peterson’s eyes reflect the red of the blood demonic, and he flashes a gummy grin before leaving Don Chumph to finish the job. Blood cascades from a vapour veil, and the next day Dennis pretends to be Don Chumph who pretends to be a plumber. Hired by Milos Stavros, unbeknownst to him, to repair the very problem Don Chumph had installed.

He only truly believes Helena’s claims about blind wealth when he walks the halls of Milos Stavros’ even more luxurious mansion. Floor to walls bathed in a glistening white so pure and immaculate, so unlike the snow in every way except the shade. An indoor pool steams, the colour of liquidised sapphires. No doubt the Stavros’ brush their teeth with liquid crystals too.

He watches as Frank Peterson makes a new ransom note. Requests a million. Don Chumph can’t imagine that wealth. Don Chumph also can’t connect the dots between what Frank Peterson has him do. Dennis, of course, realises the genius in it, and thinks he’d like to see how far he can go. With the help of Frank Peterson, he can ditch this wasteland and come back to Philly a millionaire. Or move elsewhere. California. Hawaii. Anywhere where he can feel the warmth of the sun rather than sunburns from snow. And the best part about this whole scheme working is that he can rub his wealth in the faces of the losers he left in Philadelphia.

 

Don Chumph waits outside the police station with a thousand crickets in the back of his van. He has a few short instructions. Acquire as many crickets as possible. Wait for Frank Peterson to get released from custody. Assist him with unleashing the cricket plague inside Milos Stavros’ largest, newest store. Sounds simple, but the damn noises of the crickets hopping around in the back of the van reminds Dennis of a) how much he hates Cricket and b) when he lived with Mac in the suburbs. He puts both thoughts aside in trying to work out how Frank Peterson knew how to call him at that particular pet store at that particular time. With one phone call allowed, how had the guy picked the right store?

Don Chumph asks and doesn’t get a straight answer. To press would be to go out of character, and Dennis has to make sure that Frank Peterson never sees him. Never hears or suspects him. In that victory, Dennis revels. Gets off on the high of a win that only comes to a screeching halt when Frank Peterson locks him in the pantry for 14 hours straight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's coming up to my exam period, which means i'm going to slow down the chapter updates to perhaps every 5-6 days. still regular, but less regular. anyway, please let me know what you think of the story so far :)


	21. The Pantry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters out today bc a) they're both kind of short and b) i finished 1 exam (three left to go~!)

He had never imagined he would die at his age, in a space as small as this. He’d thought maybe he’d die when he was in his early twenties when nothing was going right. But things kept going and he kept living and now he’s on the lower side of 40 having been drilled shut into a tiny room, surrounded by nothing but food.  

 

Hours go by. Don Chumph wonders if Frank Peterson will ever come back. Dennis Reynolds knows the man has left him for dead and if he ever gets out of this box he’ll drop the dumb role and tear the man apart. Disposing of a body in this wasteland can’t be any harder than it could be in Philly.

 

The house rings quiet in his ears.

He had treated Mandy badly. Manipulated her as best he could, thought that he hated himself for doing it but couldn’t stop. It’s in his nature, he supposes. Too used to it and used to people who wouldn’t see right through him. He had overheard Mandy’s sister calling her a saint. If Mandy’s a saint her sister’s a fallen angel, cursed and wretched for turning on Dennis like they all do.

 

Dennis doesn’t believe in anything. Mac, like Milos Stavros, believes in good and bad, in holiness and tangible evil.   
He can put his two hands together and lower his head and it will mean nothing to him and nothing to the stifled air around him. He can hope that Mac has prayed for him every day and yet it will surely be ignored by the millions of particles between him and Dennis.

Dennis has only been living the only way he knows how to survive a faithless life.

 

He gorges himself on almost everything in the pantry, which isn’t much. Don Chumph’s a pitiful man. Lives alone in his two bedroom in Duluth. Two bedrooms in case Dennis decides to take Brian Jr. out for a long weekend. He never does though. Hasn’t seen his son in months. He’s meant to cover for Mandy next Tuesday but with the way things are going, looks like that isn’t happening.

And he readily accepts the relief.

Better to abandon his son before Brian Jr. can comprehend what abandonment feels like.

 

He tries to kick down the door again. Kicks down Don Chumph’s pathetic dream to open a Turkish bathhouse, a romanticised place where beautiful women could get naked. Not fat, sweaty, middle aged women with winter leg hair as long as the hair on their heads. A goal to transform the women of Bemidji and make a place of it. A goal as unreachable as Mandy is to satisfy.

He wears down Don Chumph’s naivety. Brings out his courage. Utilises it to throw strength against the drilled down door, but to no avail reflective of Don Chumph’s inherent blindness.

 

He’s heard people say that the moment before you die, you see your life flash before your eyes. Dennis tries to think of his achievements but all he can think about as the hours go on is nothing good he’s done and no one good in his life except Mac. Any bright flicker of a memory he can recall, Mac’s there with him.

And shit does he miss Mac.

He should have swallowed his pride and called his friend up while he had the chance. The distance calls would have cost a fortune but he should have done it. Called him every day. Kept up the contact. And he hadn’t. Out of some sick romance that Mac should come running after him like he always does. Tail between his legs. Normally Mac would see how much he’d upset Dennis and would grovel at Dennis’ feet to repair it. He’d waited and waited and the lack thereof befits a punishment of Dennis never making the first move.

But he admits now, he could have done more.

He decides that, rather than strangling Frank Peterson out right, that he’ll play his cards. He’ll be submissive to Frank Peterson’s plans, as per usual, and the moment he has freedom he’ll pick up a phone and call Mac. He’ll convince Mac to come to Bemidji. And that he should bring the RPG.

And hell, Mac better be glad to hear from him.


	22. Trigger Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating E as of this chapter.  
> Warnings for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence, Gun violence, major character death.  
> (& direct Fargo scene reference)

Dennis abandons his token for peace the moment he hears Frank Peterson starting to pop the nails out of the wood. He’s tired and sore and it stinks something awful in this windowless room and he’s ready to strangle the demon of a human the moment he’s let out of the pantry. Except the moment the door falls away, a sense of calm overcomes him and he inadvertently he reverts to Don Chumph’s blissful ignorance.

The sway of commitment annoys him but Frank Peterson has this power over him which makes him submit. Quietly he does take pride in his own image that he presents. Inwardly commending himself as he plays with the voice recorder. Typical Don Chumph behaviour despite the fact that Dennis hasn’t even seen Star Wars.

Then Frank Peterson finishes his call. They’re getting the one million. The full thing. Cash. And like hell is he going to split it. He gears up to smash Frank Peterson’s head against the wall but cannot bring himself to do it. The man asks him to fetch something from the duffel and he finds himself obliging. Seconds later he doesn’t have the chance to wonder why he always does what Frank Peterson asks him to do because his vision goes suddenly black.

 

A snow engulfed cathedral swelters under a beating sun, swathed in endless white, the purity of the landscape pimpled by the lone structure. Paintings of apostles and saints glow through the translucent ice, tears sweating down the glass and drenching the holy grounds beneath. The heat of summer comes. Burns away the thick sheets of ice and pressures the waters down to the river styx. Wets the dry channels with the seasonal rejection of faith.

A man stands by the shore, fire above him, a thick river with infinite depths at his feet. He wears a thick brown coat, a ring of hair reminiscent of the tonsure style and he carries a wide grin. Fangs sparkling in the flames and dripping wet with blood.

 

Dennis dreams of the warmth of Philadelphia. Of the gang. Of Mac, clinging to his arm the last day Dennis had seen him. The day they’d pretended to be a couple.

And other times. Blankets twisted around too many bodies in one bed. Mac’s limbs entangled over his. Mac’s fingers playing with Dennis’ hair when Mac thinks he’s asleep. And times before that, too. The peace he had felt when he thought he might drown, hand in hand. The unbearable distance between them in the suburban home. And years before that too, of closeness. Inseparability. Dennis had always thought that he _could_ be apart from Mac, but never thought he _would_ be.

And never thought that he wouldn’t be able to take Mac down to hell with him.

 

He wakes up, vision blurry. Body fixed in an odd position. Duct tape tight over his mouth, his wrists and legs bound against a machine. Dennis thinks for one bewildered and frightened moment that he’s strapped to The Ass Pounder 4000, before coming to his senses at the sound of a gun clocking. Then Frank Peterson, a dry smile on his face, duct tapes the rifle to his hand. Dennis had always been a fan of duct tape and its many uses, until it’s used against him.

He pulls the trigger.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try.”

Frank Peterson then wanders over to a positioned rifle and fires out the window of his second, third, home. Panic arises outside his quiet neighbourhood. Frank Peterson stands back, looks once at the fool he’d tied to an exercise bike, and leaves him be. That bastard. The automatic rifle swings off again a round of fire through the neighbourhood. Screaming. He screams, the duct tape doesn’t budge. Sirens. The call of the apocalypse.

“WAIT!” He bellows.

Deafness to the ear muffs over armoured policemen. Another round of fire from the automatic rifle. Heart in his throat. He fires his own, empty, useless, full of rage and impotency. And then they throw the smoke grenade in.

He shouts again and again. _PLEASE WAIT_! The door smashes in. Heavy footsteps.

“He’s armed!”

They fire.

Can’t they see he’s duct taped?! Haven’t they noticed there’s no bullets in his gun?! That he isn’t shooting?! So stop shooting!!

Bullet after bullet.

They riddle through his chest and arms and legs and they won’t _stop_. A one man massacre. The breath taken out of him and blood pistoning out in shoots like a fountain well. And he’s caught in place by the duct tape and the action of bullets firing this way and that, unholy oscillation engulfed in a flurry of gunpowder cracks and deep red. True blood cascades, a fringe of fire over his eyes. Darkness descends. Weightlessness. Body bespeckled with gun powder, dust and airlessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will release the next update in a few days time... the next chapters are kind of short, then they get v. long!


	23. Duluth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters out today because they're short (but integral). 
> 
> ft. very minor characters from Fargo (- i've taken great liberties with their characterisations lol so they're basically minor original characters with canon names from Fargo.)

“Hi there, this is Officer Hoskins calling from the Duluth Hospital. I’m calling on behalf of Deputy Grimly in regards to his suspect. According to the documentation that we found on his person, his vehicle is registered to your residence. Are you aware of Mr Chumph’s current status, Ma’am?”

“Did ya say Chumph?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Mandy sighs, “This is one of your schemes, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is in regard to the blackmail scheme,” Officer Hoskins says, “I require you to come down to the hospital to answer a few questions, and to identify the body.”

Mandy pauses. “Dennis, if ya wanted to get out of seeing Brian for the first time in months ya could have just told me ya were busy,” She snaps, “You’re wasting both of our time by making up this tired story.”

She hangs up.

“Ma’am? Ma’am?!”

Officer Hoskins looks down at the silent telephone and then looks up at Maggie, wide eyed.

“Dial again,” Maggie suggests.

Officer Hoskins redials but the girlfriend doesn’t pick up. One way or another she’ll get an accessory to the crime, it’s normally how things go. Officer Hoskins hangs up the phone and pulls up her records on his computer.

“Well, at least we confirmed one thing,” Maggie starts. She shows Officer Hoskins the business card Hoskins had acquired from evidence and taps the thin cardboard, “This fella is not Don Chumph.”

Officer Hoskins peers at the business card, “Looks like he’s been operating in the Duluth area under Don Chumph. Sounds to me like the girlfriend don’t know about it.”

Maggie comes around the desk to look at the computer screen. She taps it with her finger, unintentionally zooming in on a blank space. “Oh bother, look back there. Ya, Mandy’s got a kid.”

Officer Hoskins enlarges the correct portion of the document on the screen. “Jeez Maggie, why’re you the one at the door and I’m the one behind the desk, huh? There’s an amendment on the birth certificate. Father’s name is corrected from Brian Lefevre to Dennis Reynolds.”

“The girlfriend said Dennis, right?” Maggie frowns. “What’s this guy doing with three different pseudonyms?”

“I think it means we got the right guy, Maggie,” Officer Hoskins says.

“But who taped him to the machine, sir? He hadn’t done it to himself.”

Officer Hoskins stops.

Maggie nods, “You best call the folks in Bemidji. I’ll get onto this fella’s next of kin. They might be able to shed some light on how Mr Reynolds is involved in this whole mess.”


	24. Hell on Earth (Just above, and so below)

He opens his eyes but he does not see. Colourless, neither black nor white, indescribable as colour is to a person born blind. His body raptured immobile. Weightless in parts and heavy in others as if he’s missing limbs, missing organs, missing parts of himself. Noises circulate around him in sections of time. Sometimes metal clanging and ticking and slicing. Sometimes voices he doesn’t recognise. Dennis thinks they must be demons sent to soar around him, torturing him with snippets of conversation that don’t make sense and that he doesn’t care to listen to.

Time seems to go on. His body clock tells him to sleep but he can’t sleep. Or maybe he’s already asleep. Perpetual stagnation. He’d rather the sight of endless snow than this. At least something tangible lies beneath the shapes cloaked in white, no matter how disgusting. Or the dark strip of shadow beneath an empty room, save for a dreadfully familiar piece of workout equipment. Dusty and lonely. A door closed once and left unopened. He could see it from his bedroom in Bemidji, that strip of shadow beneath the door. He’d happily stare at that for eternity, for something to look at rather than his own fading memories.

The noises disappear after some time. How long will he go on like this? Trapped with his memories for as long as hell remains true. Sometimes he forgets and thinks he’ll die of boredom, but he’s already dead.


	25. Bemidji (Architecture in Istanbul)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the fantastic lornemalvoofficial <3

Charlie thinks he’s heard all that there is of humans crying, what with The Waitress having his kid and all. But no; he has to sit through a three hour flight to Minneapolis and an excruciating transfer to Bemidji with his best friend crying on his shoulder like a big baby. Mac’s as bad as The Waitress, worse even. Frank and Dee seem to be doing the best of all of them. More angry than anything.

“It’s Father’s intuition, Dee. He ain’t dead til I feel it in my gut.”

“Maybe you don’t feel it because you’re not-“

“Shut your mouth Dee and have some respect for the death of your brother.”

Charlie’s alright too. Dennis has been gone for over a year now and to be honest, Charlie had forgotten Dennis existed until Mac started talking about him again. Couldn’t stop going on about the police thinking Dennis was a serial killer. A dead one at that. Charlie supposes he’d forgotten what Dennis’ deal was. Put his absence down to the guy already being dead and promptly forgot about him. It’s probably a good thing. Lessens the emotional load on finding out that Dennis had been pretending to be some other dude and got killed for it. He doesn’t know the full details of it. Doesn’t care to know, really. Dennis has been dead to him for too long now for Charlie to care about the how and why and when and where. But it’s all Mac can talk about, grasping at the scraps of information that they have.

If The Waitress isn’t as annoying as she is post-partum, Charlie probably wouldn’t have volunteered to accompany Mac through to Bemidji for that reason. Even with new information, some things are best left unknown. He tells The Waitress he’s going in case Mac tries to kill himself again but in reality it’s because he can’t stand to be in the same room as that insane bitch without getting into a screaming match. Which he always wins, by the way, door in his face or baby crying down a satellite, he always comes out of the fight on top. Honestly, he does so much for the people around him and he never gets any thanks for it. The least The Waitress can do is thank Charlie for finding her a sweet little apartment to live in with their newborn.

Although, if this new piece of information about Dennis’ status has enlightened him about anything, it’s that he kind of understands now why Dennis was the way he was. Leadership isn’t for everyone and it’s certainly not for him. He’s the behind-the-scenes guy. The guy who lingers in the background, cloaked by shadows and gets stuff done. Charlie guesses he thought by coming to the forefront he’d actually start to get appreciation for the work he does. Laughable, really. Still, he can’t pass the leadership to anyone else. It’s his spot no matter how much Frank wants to take his throne. But a death is a death and he has to make some allowances.

So he lets Frank come on the trip with them too. Makes sure there’s someone left at the bar to take care of things, which has got to be Dee, obviously. And he lets Mac cry on his shoulder for god damn hours. The first thing he’s going to do when he gets to Mandy’s is change out of his filthy shirt. Granted, he’s used to wearing filthy clothes but normally he’s covered in dirt and the flesh of pests, not bodily fluids from an actual baby – and a grown up baby too.

They arrive in Bemidji, finally. The sun sets early. Mac clings to Charlie’s arm the whole way off the plane.

“Jesus Christ dude, you’re as bad as my kid,” Charlie tells Mac.

They walk off the runway and into the small arrivals terminal, where Mac lets go of Charlie’s arm. Charlie watches, wary of his friend’s fake composure. Mac tries to stand straight, suck in his breath and hold back his tears. Clenches his biceps to make them look totally badass. And all of this only falls hollow against Mac’s blotchy and tear strewn face.

Charlie can see Mandy behind the rope. Or at least he thinks it’s Mandy. He only met her once and the kid on her hip looks a lot bigger than Charlie remembers him to be. Then again, he could just be comparing the size of Dennis’ kid with his own too much.

Mac’s body goes rigid the moment he spots Mandy. She lifts up a hand and waves at them.

The closer they get the more Mac’s hands start to shake around the straps of his bags. Dee’s been telling Charlie how heartbroken Mac is but this is the first time Charlie actually believes it, because he’s seeing how much just walking towards the fault of all this mess is breaking his best friend up.

Charlie reaches Mandy first. He doesn’t hug her, just nods.

“O look, baby,” Mandy says, holding Brian’s wrist to wave at Charlie, “It’s your uncle Charlie. Wonder if your Auntie’s here too?”

“The Waitress?” Charlie shrugs, “Nah, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“O no, I meant Deandra.”

Charlie reels at the Minnesotan accent pronouncing his friend’s name, “Dee?”

“Mmhmm, I made up a room for her… O, sweetie…”

Mac draws in and Mandy passes Brian over to Charlie as she swoops in to throw her arms around Mac.

Charlie drops his bag at his feet and holds Brian Jr. in his arms. Brian is so heavy compared to his kid. He even kind of looks like his kid, only with a lot more hair. They both have blue eyes… Charlie squints at Brian Jr.

“You look just like…”

Mandy lifts out of her hug with Mac but keeps a strong hold on his arms, transferring her pitiful glance over to Charlie. “O, he does, doesn’t he?”

“He looks so much like Dennis,” Mac chokes.

At that moment, Frank stumbles out from the crowd of people streaming out of arrivals and bumps into Mac and Mandy. He drops his bags and his possessions topple out in the process; a couple of tennis balls roll across the shiny floor, along with a whole leg of plastic-wrapped ham.

“O, uh, you brought him too?” Mandy asks, pulling away from Mac entirely.

She scoops Brian out of Charlie’s arms. Frank pulls at his hair before scrambling after his things.

“Bro,” Charlie says, observing Frank, “You’re a genius! This kind of floor is going to season the ham so good!”

Mandy makes a face. “Looks like someone bit into it already…”

“I made the TSA guy a sandwich!”

“Ham as the bread?” Charlie asks.

“There’s no other way!” Frank hollers over his shoulder, slipping along the floor.

“Nice.”

Frank catches his tennis balls and shoves them, his ham, and the rest of his stuff back into his bag. He frantically zips up the overfilled bag and once successful, he sits down in a heap, huffing and blowing long frizzy hair out of his face.

“What?”

The group look down at him.

Mandy presses her lips together. “O the thing is, Grandpa-“

Frank grimaces, “Don’t call me that.”

“Hm. Well, the thing is fellas, I don’t have enough beds for you all. Dee has the spare bed in my house and well,” she turns to Mac again, squeezes his forearm, “I was going to put you on the couch.”

“Dee?” Frank starts as he struggles to get to his feet, “No, no, someone had to look after the bar while we were all gone!”

“O dear,” Mandy bounces Brian on her hip, “We were looking forward to seeing her again weren’t we?”

Frank frowns, “Were you? I suppose kids do like animals.”

Mandy ignores him. “If Auntie Dee isn’t coming, I think you’ll have to stay in Dennis’ flat for the night. The landlord allowed an extended lease for grievance, you see. Maybe you boys can go through Dennis’ stuff and help sort out what can stay and go. That would be nice…”

Mac looks at Charlie with puppy dog eyes and Charlie nods, giving Mac permission.

“Dee was going to do that for me but-“

“We’ll do it,” Mac says, voice uneven.

Mandy looks at him for a moment. “Alright, I’ll take you fellas there. I’ll come pick you up first thing in the morning.”

 

Mandy doesn’t come in with them. Drives off with Brian back to her own home. Mac probably couldn’t have gone inside himself if it wasn’t for Charlie and Frank barging on in with intent to mess the place up. They snoop around every nook and crevice, opening up every cupboard and pushing over every bit of furniture as if they’re going to find Dennis hiding somewhere. Mac would tell them to stop if the place didn’t already look like a total dump. Beer bottles everywhere. Garbage bags piling up. Air fresheners plaster the walls to the ceiling.

Mac would never let Dennis live like this.

Maybe Dennis’ other house is in better shape. Mac won’t be able to see for himself though, since it’s all taped up for the police investigation. Mandy had told him that apparently Dennis had been pretending to be someone else. Someone called Don Chumph. It explains the weird voicemail Dennis had on his number. Mac could barely recognise his best friend when he spoke with that accent. He wonders if he’d have recognised Dennis after not seeing him for a whole year.

Will he be able to recognise Dennis lying on a slab in a morgue?

Mandy said she couldn’t. But then his eyes were shot out, so that might have something to do with it.

He walks around the house with his breath held in his lungs. The place is huge. Well, no bigger than the suburban house he and Dennis lived in for a short month. It’s one story. Three bedrooms, with a large kitchen, a lounge room, two bathrooms. All this space for one guy. Mandy is probably lying about there being nothing between them. Why else would he _need_ a house this big?

While Mac looks through Dennis’ bookshelf which is strangely filled with Turkish design books, Charlie and Frank move on to check out the bedrooms.

Charlie opens the door to the first bedroom and closes it straight away. “Weird.” Then glances up the hall to identify Dennis’ room, and picks the spare bedroom. He locks himself in there with Frank, and Mac winces when he hears them shuffling around in there playing their weird games.

Mac looks back at the books on the shelf. Dennis had never taken an interest in art before. There are aspects of this house which scream Dennis, and others which are so alien to Mac that he could be breaking and entering into a stranger’s house.

He’s definitely not crying and easily moves down the hallway to the door that Charlie had left. He peers in and frowns when he sees what occupies the space. A lone exercise bike. It’s unmodified, but Mac isn’t quite sure what to think of it. He leaves the room and tentatively steps into Dennis’ bedroom. He looks over everything there. Picks apart clothes like they’re made of dripping acid, moves decorations and puts them back on their dusty graves. Beer bottles line the walls and make an extra layer of insulation, fat flutes singing under ghostly puffs of air. Maybe he’s hoping Dennis will jump out too, part of a whole big ruse like the day he’d tried to fake his death so he didn’t have to be responsible for Brian Jr.

A draft pulls in from a window left opened somewhere in the house. The sound of a chainsaw buzzing outside disrupts the chaos of the room next door. Mac wraps his arms around himself. Sits down on the bed. Beer bottles roll down the sinking sheets and he collects them all and positions them with the lonely wallflowers. He then looks at Dennis’ bedside table. A digital clock reads red in 12-hour time. A framed picture of an ornate bathhouse sits poised beneath a lamp.

Performative. It’s not like Dennis to adorn his living space with pictures of anyone or anything. It’s also not like Dennis to go a whole year without talking to his best friend. Or maybe it is, and the person who lived in this house is who Dennis has been all along, and Mac could just never separate his idea of Dennis with who Dennis really was.

That’s stupid. He bites his lip.

Mac pulls out the top drawer of Dennis’ bedside table and looks inside. There’s a tub of lube which rolls to the back of the drawer. Several packets of tissues stacked messily. Some shrivelled up remnants of onion skin. And a single video.

Mac looks around the room until he spots a small TV set sitting on a stool behind the door. He plucks the tape out of the drawer, pushes the door shut and winds in the tape. He sits back on the edge of the bed to watch. It’s one of Mac’s recordings. One of his very first badass videos that he’d left on his old YouTube channel. In the side alley he’d set up a bunch of dummies for him to take out with his sick karate moves. The idea was that he’d jump in and knock the dummies out one by one and then post-op it to look like he was fighting them all at once. It had all gone wrong when he’d accidentally kicked a water main system which ran along the brick exterior of the adjacent apartment block. Cold water had burst out all over him, the pressure knocking him off his feet, his dummies too.

He’d still put it up on YouTube because honestly his ability to totally wreck a water main was still pretty badass, especially considering he hadn’t yet found the black belt in the trash, which proved that God believed in him. The thing is, it’s such an old video that he’d forgotten he’d even made it, let alone kept it up online for anyone to see. The worst part about it is watching himself from so many years ago, back when he was in deep denial about who he was, and recalling his actions a split second before he sees them occur on the crackly VHS. His perspective of what was happening back then is so different to how he thinks now; it’s so obvious that he was gay, he doesn’t know why his friends didn’t just tell him straight up.

He chews on his thumbnail as he watches the last few minutes of the tape. He was wearing a white shirt which goes see through from all the spraying water. Back then he’d thought he’d looked totally badass, and yeah, he kind of does, but then he’d wrestled the dummies out of the way of the burst main and walked back to the camera with his nips as hard as ball point pens, a massive hard on visible through his soaked trousers.

It really is his worst tape. He should have taken down that whole channel. The thing is, he’s sure he’d destroyed the tape. Or Charlie had. Or someone had. It was definitely destroyed, so for Dennis to even get this footage onto a VHS, he must have gone to all the trouble to convert a YouTube video onto tape. Mac has _no idea_ how to do that, and he has a momentary spike of jealousy over this unknown person who must have helped Dennis in achieving it.

The video goes static and Mac turns the TV off and lays down in Dennis’ bed. He wonders when Dennis slept in it last. The bed sheets don’t smell like him, although Mac’s memory of his best friend’s smell is fading rapidly. Still, it makes him feel close. Before he gets to sleep, he thinks of the video again. Dennis kept his tapes for two reasons: for the glory and to jerk off to. And that idea alone tears Mac apart, knowing that Dennis loved him but was too afraid to say it. That Dennis would rather run away and pretend to be someone else than commit himself to Mac.

 

He lies on Dennis’ bed and thinks he hears chirping (or memories of it) against the insufferable quiet after Frank and Charlie finally fall asleep. But he doesn’t really sleep. He just can’t believe what’s led him to being in this situation.

Mandy isn’t joking when she said she’d pick them up first thing in the morning. The sun hasn’t yet risen when she arrives, her Ford rumbling in the dusky dawn. Frank and Charlie are still asleep, twisted up in bed sheets strewn along the ground. Mac sinks against the hallway wall, plaster between him and The Ass Pounder prototype. He watches with his chin up as Mandy nudges Charlie with her sandals.

They won’t budge.

Mandy and Mac go without them. It’s a three hour drive to Duluth made shorter with Mandy’s wheels tearing up the spring streets. Birds fly in black flocks and wheat rolls over plains as far as he can see. Mac thinks he might throw up. Spill out his guts and turn himself inside out. He’d thought that any day, Dennis would come back. Sometimes he’d catch himself becoming really excited to tell Dennis a particular piece of news, only to turn around and realize Dennis wasn’t with him. Hasn’t been with him. Won’t ever be with him. For a time – and it took a long time – Mac was happy without him, and now he’s dead without him.

He’ll never be the same.

 

Mac could not have prepared for the sight of seeing his best friend out on that slab. He doesn’t cry as much as Mandy cries but he spends a long-ass time in there until the pathologist looks at him with blank eyes. The police call him into a seat for questioning and he grips Mandy’s hand like she’s Jesus incarnate. He can’t answer the first few questions because his mouth seems to be glued together with saliva and snot. And when he does try to cough something out, he cries so much he could bottle it, make something out of it, sell his tears in the summer since he’s making so much of it. Refrigerated of course. He could run this side business out of the bar. Easy.

“So, I must inform you that the culprit of the murders in Bemidji has been identified and is in the process of trial. Therefore we are no longer charging your guy for that, but, well,” the officer turns a page over in her notebook and then looks hard at Mandy, probably because she thinks Mandy is Dennis’ girlfriend or something, not because the officer can’t face the total badassery of Mac’s stoic expression. “We’re not ruling him out entirely for the blackmail scheme here in Duluth.”

“You still think he had a hand in it?” Mandy asks. She squeezes Mac’s hand.

“O, we think he might have, yes,” the officer says, “But we can’t be sure. It’s still under investigation, but we do have reason to believe he was not alone.”

“What do you mean?” Mandy says.

“Did someone set Dennis up?” Mac snivels.

“Mm, possibly,” The officer tilts her head. She gives Mac a sympathetic look, then her eyes flicker back to Mandy. “My superiors have reason to believe that Don – sorry – _Dennis_ got stuck in the crossfire. Just bad luck, really. Is there anyone you can think of who would have a reason to frame Dennis?”

Mac wipes his nose with the back of his hand and smears the fluids on his trousers. Mandy retracts her hand holding his other, and he looks at her. He suddenly feels overly suspicious of her. How should he believe anything this woman says? She has not been in contact this past year either. She even claims to have not known Dennis had been killed until Mac was called to confirm Dennis’ identity. For all Mac knows, _she_ could have framed Dennis and taken the money all for herself.

“You knew him better than I did, Mac.”

Mac scowls, his previously cold mouth turning hot with fury.

“Dennis has more enemies than I can count.”

“Good – or, er, not good,” the officer clears her throat, “We’re looking for anyone operating within the Minnesotan region. Is there anyone you’re aware of within the area?”

Mac sits back, “Oh, then no. People hate Dennis but no one hates him so much that they would come over to this shit hole and…”

“Hey, Bemidji’s not that bad,” Mandy laughs, trying to lighten the mood or something.

Mac glares at her.

The officer closes her notepad, “I think that’s all I-“

“If it wasn’t for _you_ -” Mac says as he locks eyes with Mandy, jabbing his finger at the glass which looks on to the room containing Dennis’ body. “-Dennis wouldn’t be in this shitty town in the first place.”

“Alright,” Mandy says. She stands up, does up her jacket, and double checks with the officer before heading toward the door. “How about you jump in the car Mac? We can stop by the diner for some hot cocoa and talk about this there.”

Mac crosses his arms, “I need a beer.”

Mandy puts an arm around Mac and pulls him toward the car, “They have some on tap I think. Come on, it’s been a long day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Phew! Sorry about lack of updates! I have two exams left now~)


	26. Betamax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh, sorry for the lack of updates! exams are all done! So hopefully more frequent updates from now on.

He feels different. More receptive. When he thinks he should feel hot and smell sulphur, he feels cold and smells steel. He can hear drums, too. They come in pairs, beating in rapid two stops. It’s as if he can tell when the demons are far away and come close, then circle back into the maze of darkness. And after a while, he can almost see something. Make out a shape, angular lines, acceleration. He thinks it must be his coffin, but he can’t smell wood or dirt and perhaps it’s his steel cage in Hell which dangles above demons gnashing their teeth and clawing out to reach his sinful purity. Life stolen from youth.

 

For the first time in eternity he hears voices he recognises. Maybe they’re old memories he’d forgotten, but he can’t put a date to the time that Mac had such wretched despair mar him. And for the longest time it’s all Dennis can hear. He thinks he’ll feel tears on his arm and slobbery lips on his forehead amongst horrible, _horrible_ crying for infinity. Until it becomes faint. And double drums carry out like snares as suddenly as they had arrived. 


	27. Duluth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ft. very minor characters from Fargo)

Maggie stands up at the receptionist desk and watches Schmidt take Grimly into his office. She picks up the telephone, dials the office number and calls through to Hoskins.

“It’s me,” She sings when Hoskins picks up his desk phone.

Hoskins leans out of his chair and looks down the hall at Maggie hanging over her counter. He puts down the phone and walks down the hall to the receptionist desk.

Maggie nods at Schmidt’s office, “Do you see what’s going on in there?”

Hoskins leans his elbow on the counter and gazes down into Schmidt’s office. “Oh I’m seeing it alright.”

“What do you suppose Schmidt’s ragging on him about?” Maggie asks.

“They gather that fella our boys shot up was to do with a million dollar blackmail scheme against Milos Stavros.”

Maggie’s eyes go wide, “The Supermarket King of Minnesota?”

“Ya, that fella,” Hoskins says without removing his eyes from the drama happening within glass walls.

Maggie whistles. “Didn’t think there were millions in groceries.”

“You command a business like Stavros and there will be. Grimly’s only getting the worst of it because of his trips down to Bemidji, unauthorised and all.”

“Nothing to do with Stavros then?”

“Might be. Grimly seems to think it’s the same guy.”

“Same guy as what?”

“The murder in Bemidji. Thinks the guy they put away ain’t the guy. Thinks there’s a connection far too big for him if he were on a true trail, I’d say.”

“Schmidt seems to think so too, sir. What do you think?”

Hoskins glances at her. “I don’t think we oughtta be barking up trees that don’t have nothing to bark at. And, best keep in jurisdiction. That’s what Schmidt’s saying. Or, I’d suspect Grimly of some reprimanding. The kid’s in over his head.”

“Poor fella.”

“You heard how his son got killed?”

“ _Gus Grimly’s_ kid?” Maggie asked, aghast.

Hoskins shakes his head. “Milos Stavros’s kid, Dmitri? I used to see the kid down at the checkouts sometimes. O, and I say kid but he couldn’t be younger than 30 I’d say. Late twenties, maybe, hard to tell,” Hoskins taps one finger to his temple and continues, “Bit of a funny kid. Anyway, he got killed in a freak car accident.”

Maggie nods. “Heard on the news. The rain of animals…”

Hoskins clicks his tongue. “Nothing religious about it. Tornado swept through an ice swamp and dumped the fish right on top of them.”

“I never heard of a blizzard flinging fish.”

“That’s why it’s a freak accident, Maggie. Anyway, no one would have known about the blackmail scheme if Stavros’ wife-“

“Ex-wife, I believe. News tells me facts as well,” She smiles, “Same as you.”

Hoskins nods. “Her name’s Helena Stavros. She’s been making a fuss about it.”

“Rightly so, sir, her son was likely murdered and all.”

“Freak accident. Nothing like it,” Hoskins tuts, “They think our fitness kid still had something to do with the blackmail scheme though.”

“Or he got in the way?”

“We can’t be sure til we find the guy who framed him. My Junior got nothing useful from the first of kin. Finally got a description of the fella from Milos.”

“That’s good. Must be sore work for those New Yorkers being so out of the loop.”

“Philadelphia actually,” Hoskins corrects, “He’s not pressing charges though. Milos, I mean.”

“Why the heck not?”

Hoskins shrugs. “Devout man. Believes your crap about raining animals as a sign from God.”

Maggie thinks for a moment. “But Helena Stavros is?”

“O, heck yeah. She’ll rip Duluth apart to find the fella if we don’t.”

“Well, best keep looking,” Maggie says, sitting back down in her chair, “I’m sure the family in Philly are going to want to have someone to put behind bars too.”

Hoskins turns his eyes off Schmidt before his boss walks out with Grimly and tells Maggie, “Better get onto it. Schmidt’s said to put our perp’s specs out on the state area. Make sure you give out both pseudonyms too.”

Maggie whistles. “So Grimly’s being torched for being right.”

“I don’t know if he’s right Mags. Boy’s still in over his head. Would ya put the specs out?”

“Yes sir, but don’t you think it’s – pardon the pun – fishy that we have two people involved in this case pretending to be other people? I wouldn’t be ruling out the trainer having nothing to do with it all.”

Hoskins nods as Grimly walks sheepishly out the front of the station. He waits until the doors zip shut to speak to Maggie again. “Keep it down, Maggie. I’m not meant to be telling you more than I’m meant to.”

While Hoskins had just pretended he wasn’t just leaking confidential information to the receptionist, Maggie pulls up the email from Hoskins and briefly looks at the details. The man they’re after is middle aged, 6’, brown hair. Known aliases: Frank Peterson and Lorne Malvo. When Hoskins turns back to her, she tears her eyes from her computer screen and grimaces at Hoskins.

“I’ve gotta say sir, if this man really is the perp you’re after, I hope some other jurisdiction corners him. We’ve had enough bloodshed in this city.”


	28. Fargo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (shit's starting to get real guys...)   
> Beta'd by lornemalvoofficial <3

Floods sweep out from beneath the ice; sauna swamps and boiling basements burn away the snow sheets from the sinful business which stretches out underneath the city. Bright lights and faceless bodies and holographic eyes reflective of cerulean seas, the terrible oscillation of handsome men under the rhythm of drum and bass. Mac drinks, and dances, and drinks more and more. He’s drenched in sweat and sickness, the source of his despair bound in a body bag immobile at the Fargo airport.

The Reynolds family plot waits for Dennis in Philadelphia, a faux marble tombstone made of hollow concrete and a name etched in the surface - not the name he died under. Mac had thrust what he could into Charlie and Frank’s bags and pushed them off to Philly, refusing to get on a plane himself until he knew Dennis was going the same way as him. The police wouldn’t release Dennis’ body, even after confirmation of identity. Still finishing up their investigation. They caught the guy who murdered some woman in Bemidji. A nice lady, said Mandy. The guy they got wasn’t who the Duluth cops thought he was going to be, but it doesn’t matter to Mac. It’s someone to put behind bars and it’s enough for the police to release Dennis’ body after six weeks of refrigeration.

Unfortunately for him, Bemidji isn’t equipped for body shipment so Dennis has to be transferred. From one shitty town to another, stuck because bad things come in floods. All flights grounded thanks to a mass murder in some random office. Over twenty murdered and over ten wounded. One man walked in and walked straight out with nothing but blood on his hands and Mac, in backwards thought, feels more afraid for Dennis’ safety than his own.

Mandy had recommended a distraction. An Irish bar called Dempsey’s that reminded her of Paddy’s. Naturally, Mac migrates to the club downstairs. Aquarium. Stone staircase saturated in sweat and sustenance. A beefcake clings to Mac’s waist, strong hands, veiny arms. Mac doesn’t look at his face.

He doesn’t understand how Dennis lived in that town for so long. He must have actually gone insane. He’s spent more and more time with Mandy, and she isn’t like how he remembered her to be. A symptom of the rage that sits sweltering underneath the snow. The sun of Philadelphia must have softened her because she’s insufferable to stay with for the longest month and a half of his life. Worse than chirping, because Mac knows the source and he couldn’t swing a bat at her. The mother of Dennis’ child.

Sweet child. Mac loves him, he loved him from the day he met him. Loves him like Brian’s his own son. He could have been, if Mac hadn’t been so clingy, or if Dennis hadn’t been so goddamn stupid.

The beefcake’s hand flattens against the curve of Mac’s ass and pulls their crotches together, and Mac curls his hand around the back of his thick neck and nibbles his shoulder. He must bite a little too hard, because the beefcake jerks away, cursing and shaking his head.

Mac’s feet swell and soak in the dense depths of the dance floor as he watches his cake move onto some other piece of meat. He’d tried to kiss her, too. Mandy. To be close to Dennis, to touch what he’d touched, the M.A.C. system in action. But she’d pushed him away. He’d done it to himself, over and over. Many men before this beefcake, and women he never liked. He’d sabotaged himself because he doesn’t deserve love. God never wanted him to be gay. Dennis didn’t either.

He’s lost them both.

 

It’s a long flight by himself. He wants to sit in the cargo with Dennis but the air hostesses won’t let him. And then when the nurses unsheathe Dennis in the morgue in Philly, Mac can’t look at him. A violent refresher of the sight of Dennis’ decaying body, grey dents in place of eyes. Down the hallway he retches and throws up on the linoleum, then bursts out into the heat of the night. Stumbles out away from the bright lights and the buildings looming over him, and crunches over gravel until he finds musky dirt and the dry leaves of trees and flowers. A park bench offers a gloomy view of the slow-moving Schuylkill River, a cemetery across the water swathed in the shadow of the clouded moon.

His ass hurts from sitting for so long but he stays where he is because his legs don’t work and he has nowhere to go. Drinks in the pollution and the mist wafting off the filthy river and Dennis isn’t due to be buried for another ten hours. No better time to hallucinate him, walking across the river like Jesus, or the sidewalk blurred under alcoholic eyes. Dennis comes over to him, body riddled with bullet holes which sag with blood, eyes like shiny wet crystals freshly exposed from black to air.

“Oh shit man,” Dennis says, hands splayed with nails through his palms, “Did you die as well? You know what, that explains why you never called me.”

 

“Come on, Dee! It’s just for tonight!” Charlie says, as he holds his kid at arm’s length towards Dee.

Dee backs away, “NOPE. I AM BURYING MY BROTHER IN THE GROUND TOMORROW CHARLIE. I AM NOT GOING TO LOOK AFTER YOUR STUPID BABY.”

“DEE.” Charlie’s eyes go wide. “I haven’t had a SECOND of sleep since this bundle of absolute _JOY_ came into my life, will you PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. TAKE this thing off my hands!”

“NO CHARLIE!”

Charlie shakes his head. He kicks a bag and a strap-on baby carrier slides along the floor. “I’ll pay you!”

Dee makes a face and Charlie pretends to almost drop his kid, to which Dee reacts by reaching out.

“Oh you touched skin - it’s all yours now! Take the constant crapper, take it. There you go.”

Dee holds the baby in her hands and glares at Charlie, who is already running out the door.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!”

“Thanks Dee! I really need to sleep, got a big day tomorrow!”

“THERE’S GOING TO BE TWO FUNERALS TOMORROW, I’LL MAKE SURE OF THAT!” She calls out, but he’s already gone.

She carefully lays the baby down on a table for a moment, to strap on the baby carrier around her chest. 

“God damn it,” she mutters, “God freaking damn it, every damn time this son of a bitch passes off his responsibilities, I swear to God,” she switches to a sweet voice as she straps the baby into the carrier, “I am going to slice your father open tomorrow morning and I’m going to turn his body inside out and sit in it like a canoe and use his arms like paddles, won’t that be fun?”

Dee picks up her broom, continuing to sweep up the shattered glass and rubbish along the floor. She already has to do extra work because of Mac taking days off and Charlie not pulling his weight. And for only the hundredth time she’s been left with closing up shop all by herself, as if the bar really had to be open the night before her brother’s funeral. She thinks about calling Artemis over. She knows Artemis won’t help, but she’ll be someone to talk to. Artemis does like to shower Dee in praise, and God does she need a confidence boost.

Suddenly the front door swings open and Mac bursts through. He clambers onto the nearest stool at the bar, collapsing on top of it. It seems like he’s trying to say something but it’s completely incoherent amidst him being so profusely out of breath. Dee puts down her broom and goes over to the front door to lock it, even though she swears she locked it already. Mac tries to speak again but splutters out coughs and instead reaches over the bar to grab anything cold he can find.

Dee picks up her broom again and kind of sways her body as she sweeps, so that the baby bounces in her carrier.

Mac sculls a drink, burps, then stammers, “I SAW DENNIS!”

“Oh good,” Dee says as she sweeps, “Did they do that thing yet where they reconstruct the body and make him not look like he died horrifically? I think Frank paid them to do that, or I hope he did because I am _not_ looking in the casket otherwise.”

Mac throws his arms in the air, “DEE SHUT UP! I… SAW DENNIS!!”

Dee rolls her eyes, “Uh huh.”

“HE TALKED TO ME.”

Dee puts the broom down again, and Mac starts to cry. “Jesus Christ.”

“I think I’m going insane…” Mac cries, throwing his arms around Dee.

Dee rubs small circles over Mac’s back, and the baby between them bangs little fists against Mac’s chest. Mac flinches at the pliant attack from the baby but doesn’t break the hug, which she’s kind of grateful for. She’d been starved for physical contact ever since she found out about her brother’s passing. As soon as Mac had received the phone call, the gang had abandoned and the bar while they attended to the business _she_ had arranged to do. She _was_ prepared to cancel her scream poetry set to go up and sort it all out, but no, Charlie and Frank had to swoop in and take her spot all so they could play Night Crawlers together again. Selfish dicks. Made for good fodder for her set but she was so riled up afterwards that she couldn’t accept any hugs from her fans. Not that many even want to touch her. She’d resorted to cradling the Waitress’ baby, a mistake on her part, letting Charlie believe she actually cared for the thing.

After a while, Dee says, “You thought it hadn’t hit you, Mac, this is it.”

Mac pulls back. “Has it hit you??” He snarls, “You’re not even _sad_ , Dee!”

Dee straightens her back and puts her hands on her hips. “Mac, I’d be crying my eyes out if I wasn’t so freaking _pissed_ at my scumbag brother for going out like he did!”

Mac shakes his head, “You’re just like Mandy.”

Dee scowls, “ _What_?”

Mac pushes out of the stool and ruffles his hair as he paces. “It’s all backwards, Dee! Aren’t women meant to be more emotional than men?”

Dee covers the baby’s eyes and retorts, “That’s sexist.”

Mac shoots her a dark look as he continues to pace. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t even drink as much as normal because I freaking hallucinate Dennis walking across water like J-“

“-Jesus, you forgot to mention that part!”

“And I’m crying all the damn time!”

Mac stops pacing and looks at her with despair in his face. As if sensing the tension in the air, the baby gurgles out a bubble of laughter.

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Mac. And, _I’m_ allowed to feel angry.” She raises a hand before Mac can talk over her. “Look, we all deal with emotions differently. You’re just more sensitive than most.”

“THAT’S BULLSHIT! I’M NOT SEN–“ Mac stops himself, “Oh yeah, I totally am.” He mopes back to the bar stool. “I don’t wanna be though.”

“I know,” Dee coos, rubbing Mac’s back again. “Look, I need to finish up. How about you help me out here and we can go up to yours and watch some movies together until it’s midday? I was going to try and sleep before the funeral but with this dickbag,” she gestures to the baby, “We both know we’re not going to be getting any sleep until after the funeral.”

Mac nods and stands up and he says, “Yeah, I’d like that. How about… I go get some snacks and I’ll meet you at mine?”

Mac starts to retreat out the back door and Dee calls out, “Oh no, no, NO!” Then the moment the back door shuts after Mac she growls, “Oh God damn! God damn!”

She grabs the broom and grips the handle until her knuckles go white and she only softens when she sees tiny baby hands pawing at the handle too. Once all of this has blown over, she’s going to make good on her promise to go and see her nephew, and Mandy too. She’s barely seen Brian. And that’s definitely _not_ why she keeps ending up babysitting lately, and it definitely _is_ about Charlie and The Waitress being awful parents palming their child off to whoever is dumb enough to smile at the cute baby giggles.

She really needs to make that trip. After all, she can’t keep pretending that she’s out on her luck when she ends up babysitting, when in reality she’s the one pretending Charlie’s kid is Brian.


	29. Apathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: extreme depictions of violence and gore  
> Beta'd by lornemalvoofficial <3

Dennis plummets through the nine layers of hell.

Cold body. Soulless.

Wafting and listless and the scent of steel so strong that it’s suffocating, but not enough. Please. Inferno, engulf him. End endlessness. End sounds of despair and his neglected love so close and otherworldly. Mac’s heart beats constant company, inversed Poe. The sound of the heart on top of the floorboards, and Dennis’ paranoia encased in the dark. Run away, circle back, please always come back, until he does not.

And another replaces it. An old heart he doesn’t recognise. Clatter of tools. A parcel of air pops out of a finger smacking against a tube. He cannot see but he can sense something, red and blue and white, he was told. Breaks out in distributaries, mapping out the veins of a person’s body. New cells pulse out from a heart that beats slow and focused, and bears closer, closer. Fine threading through a neck so close to Dennis’ nostrils. He can smell it; crimson smells like steel, the stainless steel that has built a cage around him for infinity; armies of metal-clad souls march in layers from the fiery pits of hell up to the brightest heavens. They wrap around the globe, into this room, into this closed off space between glass and plaster and metal. Dennis, and this person or animal or demon, a heart so alive and delicious that he cannot resist sinking his teeth into it.

A sound of surprise. Frantic trumpets fire the apocalypse.

He sucks, and slurps, and he consumes this being in front of him, who dares to be so alive and irresistible. His Donnie, his dead baby brother. Dennis consumes his likeness and lets the blood course through his own veins. Join as one. Flashes of colour spark into his eyes in a series of explosions. Fireworks bursting in front of him, so bright and colourful like he’s on crack or pingers. Hot wetness dribbles down his throat. Inside, outside. Sensation returns to his fingertips, to his toes, to the gaping holes riddled across his body, and they singe with the memory of bullets.

He screams out in pain. Gnashes his teeth on the sweet juice between his mouth. Gulps it all down. Heat and cold and scents and tastes and all senses come back as he sucks and sucks. His body filling out, completing. Inferno, he has engulfed. Electricity drains from the demon and magnetises into Dennis. And then the body, empty, falls lifeless against the linoleum floor.

Dennis snorts as he sits up from the bench he’s lying on. Breathes ragged, panting. Licks his teeth and feels four of his teeth are more protruded than normal. The mark of evil. He’s rippling with energy. With the brightness of the world. With the sounds, a calamity of beeping and talking and cloven feet busying along the floors. The body lays about his feet, deflated and blood pooling and the blood looks as tasty as cherry juice. He can’t resist tasting it. Getting down on his knees and sucking the blood straight off the floor.

He’s insane. He’s actually demonic. And it’s  _ exhilarating _ .

He licks the floor sparkling clean. Stands up with his fingers tingling and his eyes wide, brushed with red watercolour. He stands for moments, taking in the world, trying to find purpose and purchase on something tangible. Six layers above him, two below, the foyer to hell in the form of a hospital. Clever. There must be something he knows. Someone he recognises, a heart he remembers amongst the hundreds of strangers in this bright place. A friend or enemy or anyone he knew from life between fire and clouds.

He looks down on his naked body and disrobes the person he has certainly just killed. A lowly demon too weak to protect himself. He wraps the large white coat around himself and seeks out the gold amongst the slivers of bronzes. Walks amongst the people half dead or just about there. Taking their last breaths as angels try to save them. Demons disguised as fat men and voluptuous women try to tempt him, call him back to rooms where the devil will plunge him into darkness again.  

He pushes past them, walks out of the death trap and into the night. Chases after a star burning hot in space. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s on the strongest hallucinogenic hell has to offer, hard enough to make him feel like he’s transported to another planet that looks just like Philadelphia. The city skyline twinkles like it knows something Dennis had forgotten eons ago. The Schuylkill River curls through a park. The water crinkling on the surface reminds Dennis of Mac’s eyes, crow’s feet more prominent the older he gets, and the bend in the river like the gentle curve of his lips.

Only in hell would Dennis be made to think of this man only and always.

A woman runs past him with a dog on a lead. Hate billows in his lungs, a gust of wind sweeps his robe out and she turns. He hears her scream, and she smells like iron. She runs off. Dennis walks along the river, a song in the back of his mind. He wonders if the Devil plays piano, or commands an orchestra beneath the gothic halls of the Sistine chapel. The ugliness in evil is not what it sounds like, but what you do with it. A jazzy OST over the Devil and his demons demanding hell be full and loud and vicious, and the heavens devoid of anything but God and his gleaming throne. Dennis would pledge to that, to one day die and die again and push God off his throne and turn gold to cinders.

He pulls on the thread of familiarity. Finds Mac on a park bench looking over the river and beyond, to the cemetery where Dennis must be buried. The familiar sound of Mac’s tears wrinkle down Dennis’ back.

He approaches, and says, “Oh shit man, did you die as well? You know what, that explains why you never-”

Mac sees him, and there is such white horror in Mac’s eyes that he bolts instantly. Runs and runs and Dennis chases him until the pulses of the world distract him far too much.

A homeless man asleep underneath a tree, bedded in the roots of Yggdrasil. The man has a stench about him, like the worst fertilizer would enrich the soil better than this man’s decomposing body would, except that another smell originating from this man overpowers his unbathed body. The smell of his blood. How Dennis knows it’s the homeless man’s blood that he smells, he’s not sure, exactly. But he  _ wants _ it. He wants to be whole with it like he had been with his demonic triplet brother Donnie. He lets Mac go and hunts the homeless man. Hunches over him in the darkness, tears the weak soul out, and he feasts on the forbidden fruit growing rotten within. 

The holes in Dennis’ body close up, the colours of the world sharpen and focus, as if his eyes had only needed the time to adjust to the darkness in order to see.

He starts to buzz, his whole body giddy from the wildest drug. He can acutely hear the water trickling down the river behind him, the cars rushing along the highways and people waking up to blaring alarms and motivating music. The sun peeks over the city skyline, and Dennis can already feel the hot flames of rays, as newborn as they are. He has an overwhelming instinct to take shelter, and so orients himself within Philadelphia’s map. He’s lost Mac’s ping, but considering the time, Mac is either heading to the apartment or to the bar, and Dennis is more than curious to see how haunting the apartment will go first.

He actually isn’t very far from his apartment, he can probably get there before the morning gets any brighter, except it takes longer than he thinks it will. Of course, he hasn’t walked the streets in Philadelphia since he learnt how to drive. And he’s dead now, so shouldn’t he be gliding or soaring through the city like the demon or evil ghost or whatever he is now. At least he’s still thriving off his high. Except the further he stays outside, the more he feels like he’s being sunburnt so badly that his skin is getting crispy. And he must already be pink because the people he passes give him weird looks. He supposes he  _ is _ walking along the street in nothing but a white, bloodstained nurse robe but he thinks it’s probably okay that he’s getting those reactions. Means he’s doing his duty. Although it does hamper his ability to hail a cab.

After some time, he arrives at his apartment block, his eyes in a daze as the morning starts to get brighter. The moment he slips into the shadows of the foyer, he feels immediately better. His vision realigns and his body temperature begins to cool, like a sheet of ice has slipped over his back. He begins to trudge up the stairs, increasingly annoyed that he cannot drift or waft up an incline. What kind of Hell is this if he can’t play the part? When he reaches his floor and he’s halfway to the door he realizes that he doesn’t have a key anymore. He thinks maybe it’s something to do with focusing, so he musters up all his courage and focuses his attention on phasing through the apartment door but all he ends up doing is slamming his body into the wood.

He smashes his nose while he’s at it and stumbles back against the hallway wall, clutching his hand over his nose. He can acutely feel the blood exiting his body, it hurts too much. He takes his hand away for a moment and glances at the blood covering his skin, and he doesn’t have the same urge as before to lick it, which is probably… good? He presses his hand to his nose again and holds his head back, thinking back to the last time he had felt such immense pain. He’d been strapped to an exercise bike and was being shot to pieces. But where’s the evidence of that?

He tilts his head to one side and looks over his arms, his chest, his legs. Yeah, he’s covered in blood, but most of it isn’t his. He would have thought that if he’s a ghost now, he’d look the way he died, bullet holes and excessive fake tan and ugly sportswear. At least none of that’s true. He’d hate to have to try and frighten someone looking like the  _ clown  _ he’d pretended to be for half a year. Still, if the ghost rule isn’t that he looks the way he died, he’d have thought he’d at least be a little translucent. Maybe he’s not a ghost, but he has to be a demon, right? Why else would he have killed…

The bleeding slows and as he goes to wipe his hand on his robe, his fingers brush over the goatee on his chin. Still there. Still as in shape as he could have kept it. But no tan, and no sportswear, and no bullet holes to show for a horrific death? He swallows. Had he dreamt being killed? He does tend to over-glamorise his own memory, and drugs certainly help with that. He decides he must be high. Maybe some E he’d left in the cereals, munched on enough of it meant for a whole month’s worth of clubbing while he was locked in the pantry. It makes sense. Explains why he’s been having these weird sensory experiences.

Except it doesn’t explain why he’s in Philadelphia instead of Bemidji. He’ll think about it later when he’s not so cracked out of his mind.

While he’s here, he can pick up some possessions he’d left behind and take them back with him. Probably best this way. When he’s rich, he’s not going to want to step foot back in Philly except to flaunt his successful self in front of the idiots who got left behind. Still, he kind of needs to get inside first. He wraps his robe around himself and trudges down to the end of the hall where a crowbar keeps the window open at all times. Brilliant security risk. He climbs out onto the fire escape and quickly edges around the outside of the building, his skin starting to itch again even under shadow. The fire escape meets their balcony and he jumps over the brick wall. As per usual, Mac has left his bedroom door unlocked.

Some things never change.

Except it  _ has  _ changed.

The last time he’d seen Mac’s bedroom it was a gloomy night spent sleeping on rags next to The Ass Pounder 4000. For one thing, Mac’s weird invention is gone. There’s boxes upon boxes piled up so high that Dennis is fairly sure whoever decided to paint the walls hadn’t bothered to move them out of the way before they attempted a half-assed job at painting the room green. If the door hadn’t swung out toward him in the balcony, Dennis wouldn’t have been able to get inside, there’s that many boxes covering the floor.

He steps over the boxes to get to the other door. Some of them are hard, some soft, and at one point his foot breaks open a lid and he looks down to see a bunch of baby clothes shoved in there. Mac was seriously nuts if he thought he should hang on to baby stuff in hopes of co-parenting with Dennis or something. He starts to think of it as a blessing that Mac isn’t close anymore; he’s not sure what he would say, and besides, this is an in and out job. He doesn’t really have  _ time _ to talk.

He kicks some boxes out of the way so he can open the door fully and slink out into the kitchen. From the kitchen he can see the lounge room which is also completely different, save for the essentials like the couch, the TV and the bookshelves. Apart from that, the magazines and CDs stacked into the shelves and the pictures hanging on the walls and the little ornaments scattered around the place don’t look like anything Dennis has ever seen before. And he hates it. How dare Mac change the apartment so much? He better not have touched his bedroom.

He flies into a rage just thinking about Mac touching his stuff. He lunges over to see if Mac had ruined his bedroom too but is pleasantly surprised to see his room looks mostly untouched. He’s about to go and grab some clothes before recalling that he’s covered in blood, and opts for having a nice hot shower before he does anything more. And God has he missed his shower. Philadelphia hasn’t adopted water-saving shower heads like Bemidji has, and Dennis is practically salivating thinking about how much coverage he’s going to get under that thing.

Although not being able to see his own reflection definitely makes his whole experience a little weird. He puts it down to him being high. He was probably so high that he’d longed for his shower and had flown himself back to Philly solely for that…. Although,he cannot remember the time between his release from the pantry and being duct taped to the exercise bike, gun in hand. Maybe Frank Peterson had been the one to drug him, slipped him something powerful enough that Dennis is having extreme withdrawals. If that’s the case, he’d have to be more careful when he returns to Bemidji.

He puts the thought aside for now and focuses on sponging his whole body down with double the accuracy, since he can’t see what he’s doing in the mirrors lining the bathroom walls. He probably stays in the shower too long. Spins the heat off and steps out of the water with his shoulders steaming. He’s just wrapping a towel around himself when a cold spike of a shiver gets sent down his back, and he hears Mac entering the apartment.

He panics.

He hears Mac coming straight for the bathroom and Dennis tries to conceal his distress with a calm demeanour.

Mac hops into the bathroom and jumps a foot high when he sees Dennis standing there, a towel wrapped around his waist. Mac’s smile is wiped slate clean and Dennis feels Mac’s eyes burrowing into him like black light lasers.

Dennis clears his throat. “Dude, what did you do to the mirrors? I can’t see myself.”

Mac blinks once, then turns to the toilet bowl and pukes. Dennis watches Mac empty his guts, and keeps talking to hide how anxious he feels at this totally avoidable encounter.

“You have to make sure you apply shaving cream on the glass every second day, Mac, or else they’re going to fog up. Don’t tell me you’ve been skimping on the house chores while I’ve been gone.”

After berating Mac’s inability to follow simple home maintenance tasks, he waits for him to finish emptying his stomach. After a few wretched minutes of puking, Mac finally sits back on his heels and wipes his face with some toilet paper. He keeps his back rigid as he reaches up to flush the toilet and doesn’t seem to want to face Dennis. Dennis crosses his arms and waits for an answer. Instead, Mac slowly turns his head to peer over his shoulder. The moment he makes eye contact with Dennis, he makes  _ such _ a dramatic gasp as he sinks to the floor and faints.

Dennis rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ dude, it’s like you’ve-” Dennis falters, “Seen a ghost…”


	30. Two men took refuge in a cave from a violent storm. One of the men starved to death before the storm lifted. When the survivor came back with police in tow, the dead had arisen, alive and well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for graphic depictions of violence/blood
> 
> chapter title inspired from a line in The Leftovers (TV). 
> 
> beta'd by lornemalvoofficial, my forever love.

Mac opens his eyes to the glaring brightness of the bathroom. The fan is at full blast, circulating steam in loud tendrils. He pulls his cheek off the cool tile floor, his head spinning as he sits up, and his stomach churns through acidic emptiness. There’s an awful taste in his mouth too, and when he swallows he remembers the horrific sight he’d seen before he’d blacked out. He’d imagined Dennis again, freshly showered with a thin towel draped around his waist accentuating his muscles, like a badly timed fantasy.

He feels like throwing up again, so he pulls himself toward the sink and rests the back of his head against the counter beneath the basin, keeping his back straight and his windpipe clear. He steadily breathes in, and out, listening to the fan roaring within the echo-prone room. He just needs to get through the next twelve hours; then hopefully he can get some sleep and stop hallucinating. Or at least they won’t be so vivid. He doubts he’s going to be able to forget Dennis for years to come.

He takes his time to collect himself, watching as the fan’s steam tendrils and small blades coil around lint and cobwebs. Slowly he drags himself up to the sink to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He’s still blinking away water droplets when he spots something in the reflection of the mirror. His heart catches in his throat, hands gripping the basin as his eyes waver at focusing on the dreadful lump resting beside the shower.

White clothes drenched in blood. A wreath made of brambles wrenches around his waist, a tightened cord pulled from an apostle. Mac can’t take his eyes off the bundle. Quick, short breaths, like he’s drowning in airlessness. Throat dry, hammering dust. And after a few moments he begins to hear movement in his apartment, footsteps and the sound of coat hangers clanging together. His body feels simultaneously heavy and weightless as he drags himself toward the bathroom door and peers out across the lounge room. Light peeks out around the shape of drawn curtains, and his eyes follow the passage to the open bedroom door. The lights are on inside the room despite the sun rising outside, but that’s not the strangest thing. What gets him believing he’s entered another plane of existence is seeing a familiar figure move to and from his bed, stuffing items into a bag.

_What the shitting hell?!_

Mac bites his lip.

He’d heard somewhere that if someone’s having a psychotic break, the best thing to do is to play along with it until it’s over. Maybe that’s why he keeps getting these hauntings from Dennis - because he keeps running away. He needs to face it head on; then maybe it will all stop. But he doesn’t want it to stop. He doesn’t want to stop seeing Dennis, even if it means Dennis coming to him in white vestments drenched in sin. Because somehow he’s _really_ good at imagining Dennis. So good that it seems real, and Mac needs Dennis to be really in his presence even if he’s made it all up in his head, because he has so many questions. He just needs to talk. He just needs to know why.

Tears already line his insides, murky like the soapy film on top of bathwater. He steps into the bedroom doorway; Dennis seems to notice his presence but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Mac reaches out to touch Dennis, to confirm that his hand is going to pass through a hologram and he’ll wake up in a psychiatric hospital with doctors in white lab coats and red clipboards all standing around him. It would make a hell of a lot more sense than Dennis flicking his hand away.

“Dude,” Dennis snarls at him.

Mac hiccups tears now, still in startling disbelief as he stammers, “You’re… you’re here…”

Dennis ignores him and steps over to his wardrobe, pulls out the clothes that Mac hadn’t the heart to burn and takes them over to the open bag on the bed. Mac blinks rapidly, goes to touch Dennis’ arm again only for Dennis to flinch away.

“Look,” Dennis starts, holding up his hands in defence, “I don’t remember how I got back here. I think I might have been drugged or something but I need to get back to Bemidji. I’m in the middle of a scheme and I’m so _close_ Mac. I’m so damn close to bringing back a mil-”

Dennis stops mid-sentence when Mac wrenches the clothes out of Dennis’ hands and pushes him up against the wall, forearm across Dennis’ chest. He searches for the bullet holes, for any kind of indication that Dennis literally had his whole body shot out, including his beautiful blue eyes. Instead, Dennis looks as unmarred as the last day Mac had seen him in Philadelphia over a year ago. So much has changed since then, and yet Dennis looks the same – albeit with an ugly goatee.

Mac catches Dennis’ eyes flutter and watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. Dennis’ body is firm beneath his hold, solid; he’d heard Dennis was pretending to be a fitness instructor and Mac supposed he hadn’t been able to tell the difference with Dennis’ body out on a steel slab, all riddled with holes. He has a burning desire to unbutton Dennis’ shirt and check out Dennis’ mass, and he entertains the idea of a one and only night stand before he can bid farewell to this perfect, imagined Dennis.

And honestly, what’s stopping him? It’s his imagination, after all.

He glances at Dennis’ parted lips and then up at glazed blue eyes as he presses his lips against Dennis’.

Dennis pushes him back almost immediately and holds Mac at arm’s length. “Dude, what the hell?!”

Mac grimaces at his ability to imagine the exact way in which Dennis would reject him. It’s so real that he considers that perhaps Dennis’ presence is not of his own imagination. Any other time he’s imagined Dennis returning to him – before he died – Imagination Dennis has showered him in love and hugs and validation, even though Mac knows that would never happen in real life. That’s why he imagines it. So he thinks that, rather than imagining Dennis as a way to process his grief, hours before the funeral, maybe God is gifting Mac for being so stringently Catholic for so many years, gifting him an astral projection from Heaven so he can exchange his last words before Dennis rests in peace.

That explains enough of it, so he better make it count if God is turning a blind eye to homosexuality.

Mac wriggles out of Dennis’ outstretched arms and slips his own around Dennis’ waist, pressing his face against Dennis’ neck so he can hear his heartbeat and smell his hair and kiss his exposed collarbone until Dennis pushes him away again.

“Don’t touch me bro,” Dennis says with a disgusted look on his face. Then, hushed, “We were only pretending to be a couple.”

Mac clenches his fists. “I wasn’t.”

“Look, don’t make this weird,” Dennis says, stepping away from Mac. “I just need to find where I hid Frank’s plastic and then I can get out of this place.” He picks up the clothes Mac has thrown on the floor and shoves them into his bag. “I know you guys have moved on without me anyway.”

“Are you kidding?!” Mac fumes, “Do you _know_ how much I’ve been hurting since you died?”

“Died – what?” Dennis blows a raspberry, “What are you talking about? I obviously haven’t died. I’ve just been on a lot of drugs. If anything I’m either still high because I keep smelling-”

Mac steps into Dennis’ space again and interrupts him. “-YOU DIED, DENNIS! I _saw_ you! I identified your stupid dead body and you’ve-”

“You’re really starting to irritate me with this-“

“You’ve come back to me from Heaven to make peace or whatever, so-”

“No, Mac, shut up!” Dennis says and grips Mac’s shoulder firmly, “None of this is making any sense. You said… You _identified_ my body…”

“Yeah,” Mac says, feeling the weight and the warmth of Dennis’ hand, “In Duluth.”

“ _Duluth_? God, what… what day is it?”

Mac wipes tears from his face and says, “It’s God’s day.”

Dennis’ eyes go wide, his face paling for a quick moment before Mac clarifies that by God’s day he means Sunday. Dennis steps back, shaking his head, and Mac can’t look at him. It’s too real. It’s frustrating and aggravating and he just wants to ask Dennis _why_ and of course Dennis has to dominate the conversation. He’s an asshole even beyond the grave.

“No, but… Sunday? How come I don’t remember six whole days?”

“Six days?” Mac turns for a moment, covering his mouth with his hand and looking back at Dennis. “You’ve been dead for almost _two months_. Missing for more. I can’t understand why God won’t let me forget about you!”

Dennis frowns at him. Mac glares back.

“I _hate_ you!!” Mac adds.

Dennis’ frown increases. “I hate you too, asshole.”

Mac huffs, feels Dennis’ eyes on him and pushes Dennis into the wall, kisses him hard. Dennis tries to push him off so Mac applies more weight against Dennis’ body, moves his lips tough and raw against Dennis’, establishing his badass dominance with his beefcake of a body and sweet kissing skills. Unashamedly, he jabs his already half-hard cock into Dennis’ thigh, and Dennis responds by flinching. Mac swallows Dennis’ surprised grunt; breath shared between them quickly becomes ragged and hungry and Mac shivers with appreciation when he feels Dennis’ hands rubbing over his back.

Dennis, on the other hand, is doing everything he can not to incise his fingernails into Mac’s back. He’s so overwhelmed by Mac’s delicious smell that he can barely move, arms locked around his back, his lips fixed terse against his own teeth. All that helps him come to his senses is when Mac’s cross necklace dangles onto Dennis’ shirt, burning straight through the fabric onto his skin.

Dennis breaks from the kiss to scream out in pain, pushing Mac away with such force that the guy crashes over the bed and hits his head on the wooden frame before falling off the mattress. Skin breaks and blood begins to spill from the same damaged area from Mac’s previous fall. Mac slumps against the opposite side of the bed, and even though Mac’s covering his wound with his hand – he’s literally on the other side of the room now – Dennis can smell the blood as if he’s got his face shoved right against the wound.

It frightens him, but having hurt his friend worries him more. He darts around the bed and kneels in front of Mac and says, “Dude are you-” but he stops mid-sentence, entranced by the sight of the red trickling between Mac’s fingers.

“You actually got built in Bemidji, huh?” Mac says with a lopsided smile, taking his hand away to look at the blood smeared across his palm.

Mac’s words go right over Dennis’ head as he is still incensed by the sight and smell of the blood. Something animalistic creeps over his spine as he wedges himself between Mac’s legs, grabs Mac’s hand by the fingertips, palm turned to the heavens and he draws Mac’s fingers to his lips. He sucks on Mac’s blood-covered fingertips; the hair on his neck stands up as the blood trickles down his throat. It tastes nothing like it, but more to the effect of ocean fresh lobster on a hot summer day, or like the comforting flavour of salty chips to cure a hangover. There’s no middle ground; it’s simultaneously the most exquisite delicacy and the most satisfying taste, and it hits the spot just right.

“Dude you probably shouldn’t… I mean, I don’t have… but I haven’t checked recently. I guess it doesn’t matter, you’re dead already anyway…”

Dennis licks Mac’s hand clean and looks up at his face, sees his mouth moving around words but hears nothing. His eyes glaze over as he hones in on the sight of Mac’s neck, twitching, the jugular vein pulsing just beneath shining skin. Dennis swallows the last remnants of blood in his mouth and licks his lips, his tongue running along two sets of elongated teeth, sharp like fangs. Dread fills in his stomach but it isn’t enough to stop him from thrusting the base of his palm beneath Mac’s chin and pushing Mac’s head to the side to expose the neck. Dennis looks at it for a moment, gleaming with sweat, throbbing, and he lowers his face slowly towards his neck, snorting in the scent of his friend like he exudes invisible crack.

Blood strengthens Mac’s boner as he observes his divine Dennis raking hungry eyes over him. A million images flash through his mind, his sexual fantasies beginning to come to life and he shivers in anticipation. Swallows a harsh gulp of air as he wraps his hands around the back of Dennis’ thighs, pulling him closer, pressing his clothed hard dick into any part of Dennis he can get close to. His heart beats fast as he entertains the idea of hooking Dennis’ thighs over his hips and getting Dennis to ride him, ride him all the way back to Heaven. And then he feels Dennis’ lips on the nape of his neck, a brief kiss before a cutting pain.

Suddenly the world around him polarises like the violent flash of a strobe light. The room goes black to colour, too bright to distinguish any features, before cycling through again. His perception of the bedroom disintegrates, breaking at its seams. He pulls Dennis closer. Threads one hand through Dennis’ long hair and lets his other hand trail to palm his own dick through his trousers.

“Take me with you,” Mac drawls, starting to feel lightheaded.

Dennis doesn’t move his lips from Mac’s neck and Mac is dying for Dennis to kiss him elsewhere. He laughs out loud at Dennis’ inability to move, except once he starts laughing, he can’t stop, like someone’s strapped funny gas to his face, and he doesn’t think how that might hurt Dennis’ ego because he just can’t stop himself. His vision goes flashy, blurry, cyclones of colour and nothing and dizziness. He worries about his dick starting to deflate before he can come to any sort of release. Who knows if God will let him nut it in Heaven.

He tries to move Dennis’ head, but he doesn’t budge, so Mac tries to shift away, except Dennis follows him. It makes him laugh again. Unstoppable. Relentless laughing and spiralling and a helpless feeling of absolute weightlessness. He finds that he can’t move now. Can’t lift a finger. Just lays there under Dennis, the room fading. The morning light around the curtains blurs to something that’s not darkness, but not brightness either. And he feels as if his soul has been lifted from his body; he’s just a floating entity laughing and crying and rising into the sky.

Faintly Dennis hears the front door to the apartment open and slam closed. Mac lies limp against the floor now. Extremely pale and almost empty and Dennis is so electrified and magnetised to Mac’s body that if it isn’t for the fresh scent of a newborn baby distracting him, he wouldn’t have been torn from Mac’s pulse point.

“Ooh you got salt and vinegar chips?” Dee’s saying from the next room over.

Dennis flinches, cowering over Mac’s body. Blood drips from his teeth, soaks into his socks. The baby smells so incredibly delicious. He steps back from Mac, shivers rippling across his skin, and he catches sight of Dee looking through shopping bags in the kitchen. He leaps toward the bedroom door and hides behind it before his sister can spot him.

“Mac? Mac where are you?” Dee calls out, “Hey dickbag, don’t you dare jump out at me unless you want a screaming baby in your face.”

Dennis can see the shadow of Dee’s feet underneath the door and he presses his body flat against the wall, hoping beyond hope that Dee doesn’t see him.

Dee gasps. “Oh my god!”

That’s it. It’s over. If he hadn’t died before, Dee is going to kill him now.

“ _Mac_ ,” She cries, “Oh my god, not you too!”

 

 

Blood boils warm in Dennis’ stomach; shivers continue to rake over his body. The baby is so close and it smells so ridiculously good that he could shove Dee out of the way and consume the baby right in front of her as a display of his fearlessness against her. Eat the baby’s blood and bones and flesh and _everything_. It’s the most frightening thing he’s ever thought and it sure as hell helps him knock his brain into place. While Dee is frozen, staring at Mac’s body bleeding out on the bedroom floor, Dennis tiptoes out from behind the door and the moment he’s in the living room, he dashes toward Mac’s old room and shuts the door behind him.

He clambers over the boxes, careful not to stand in the ray of light that spills out from the window half covered by boxes. He then piles some more boxes on top of each other until the light is blocked out enough that he doesn’t get a repeat of the wild burn he’d received earlier that morning. Then he squats on a box near the door to the kitchen, in case, for whatever reason, someone opens the door to this junk-packed room, and he cowers.

Arms around his calves, head pressed against his knees. He can’t hear Mac’s heartbeat anymore, but he can hear Dee’s. And the baby’s small rapid successions. And even though he can hear these features, he can’t hear Dee’s voice too well through the closed door, which only cements his formulating hypothesis. He bites into his thigh, the pain sending a violent spark into his brain but he doesn’t pull back. Keeps sinking his teeth further into his jeans as he hears sirens whirring down the city streets.

Known heart beats are joined by panicked strangers stomping up the flights of stairs and barging into the apartment. Dennis closes his eyes. The heartbeats leave altogether, and he listens to them screaming down the streets until it’s too far away to hear.

He doesn’t dare open his eyes even after the apartment falls quiet. He holds himself, shaking and buzzing, and forces his eyes into the dark and empty space he’s become accustomed to. Inflicts himself upon the deserved loneliness and excruciating boredom he’s witnessed for eons and eons until the most violent primary colour shot him back to life like a boomerang flung by neither angel nor demon. A crowned prince, fallen, dredging up the skeletons and wreckages of a war he was too cowardly to wage.


	31. He used to hydrate the highness, bathe him in his brother’s blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: suicide discussion, violence.
> 
> beta'd by lornemalvoofficial <3 
> 
> chapter title is a lyric in D.D Dumbo's _King Franco Picasso_

“This is Jackie Denardo reporting. A recent scandal at the Pennsylvania Hospital has seen a grotesque mishandling in the shipment of a deceased body from North Dakota. The deceased was involved in a suspected serial murder case in northern Minnesota but was cleared of all charges once the true culprit, a small town Bemidji resident named Chazz Nygaard, was arrested last month.

“After being cleared of all charges, the deceased was to be flown back to Philadelphia for burial via Fargo; however, the airliners were ill-equipped with outdated technology. The refrigeration during transportation failed, exposing the already fragile body to rapid decomposition. The deceased body consequently arrived at Pennsylvania Hospital in a pulp.

“Relatives of the deceased have been advised that reconstructive surgery for the deceased prior to burial is now impossible. The family must face either cremation or burying an unrecognisable loved one. Samson?”

The camera pans onto the reporter’s ridiculously large breasts, and Dee sympathises with the look on the newsreader’s face when the screen changes to the newsroom. The newsreader stares off screen for a moment before nodding and turning to the main camera.

“Thanks Jackie for that… um… what was it? Something serious, probably. Next, for something a little more light hearted, we’re interviewing the blue-goggled bernese mountain dog who rides in the sidecar of his owner’s motorcycle…”

Frank grabs the plastic chair in the corner of the room and attempts to throw it at the TV, but lifting the chair over his head imbalances him and he falls over.

“I’m going to sue the bastards!” he grouches as he gets to his feet again and reaches for a potted plant housed beneath the windowsill.

Dee gets up from the end of the bed and tries to wrangle Frank’s arms behind his back. “Stop trying to break things!”

“How dare they neglect him like that!” Frank huffs, yanking his arms out of Dee’s hold.

He wrings his wrists and glares at her through his thick glasses, but doesn’t make a move to grab any more items of furniture. Dee goes over to the TV and jumps to smash the off button. The news about the mistreatment of Dennis’ body has been circulating most news channels and each and every time Frank hears even a snippet of it, he flies into a rage. If it hadn’t been for Dee holding him back, he’d have been banned from the hospital for swinging a folded up wheelchair at an orderly.

Dee wanders back to the hospital bed and perches on the end of the mattress. She watches Frank who worries his lip between his teeth, staring at the potted plant as if it’s sentient enough to have a telepathic conversation with him. She gets it. She wasn’t even going to look at her dead brother’s face but there was always the possibility that she _could_. Now, there’s no chance at looking at any part of Dennis’ body which may, even a little bit, resemble him, and the only way Dee would be happy with that outcome is if she had made him that way herself. But some other hairy ballsack had, and not on purpose either. That’s the worst part about it. A freaking avoidable accident. Well, Dee hopes Frank’s serious about suing the shit out of anyone involved because that’s just disrespectful negligence.

And perfect fodder for her to scream about at the next scream slam. Of course, with the funeral postponed, she’s not sure when they’ll be opening the bar up for business again. If it’s not soon, Dee might lose her shit and do a live performance for anyone willing and unwilling to witness her pure rage. Oh boy, she’d be a million times worse than Frank.

There’s a groan on her left and Dee looks up to see Mac’s eyes moving behind closed lids. His breathing intensifies, and Dee jumps off the bed and holds onto his forearm, securing his wakefulness. His eyes snap open and he looks around wildly.

“W-where am I?” Mac pants.

Dee lets go of Mac’s arm and folds her arms across her chest. “You’re in the hospital, nimrod.”

Mac frowns, glaring down at his hands as if he was wearing a pair of Charlie’s Uncle’s fake hands. Dee looks over her friend. His lips look dry and chapped, and the colour in his skin is still pretty pale, but he does look better than two days ago.

“He awake?” Frank says.

He potters over to the end of Mac’s hospital bed and grips onto the end board. Frank’s brows are furrowed too, and the look on his face is fuelled with concentration. Dee wonders if Frank is thinking about lifting Mac’s bed up and slamming it on the linoleum floor. She smiles to herself, imagining her weak, pathetic father attempting to - and failing.

Mac’s speech slurs, “Nnns…Charlie, at Paddy’s?”

“Nah, he’s here,” Dee moves aside, allowing Mac to see Charlie in the hospital bed beside him.

“…Looks dead.”

“I wish.” Dee pokes Charlie in the side, eliciting a groan from dozing Charlie.

Despite what she’d said the other day, she’s glad there’s only going to be one funeral, considering she was so close to murdering Charlie for dumping his kid on her. Charlie looks pretty damn close to death right now, his body paler than Mac’s. If she had gone out of her way to kill Charlie, she would have had three funerals on her hand with finding Mac too late, so Dee feels like she’s kind of not allowed to be mad at any of them.

Except she still is pretty mad at Charlie. He thinks he saved Mac. If she’d been the right blood type, she’d have donated her blood, no questions asked. Any normal person would think that Charlie was being selfless, but she knows the main reason why Charlie volunteered to give his blood away in the first place:so that he could have some time away from his responsibilities. Dee bets Charlie’s playing dead this very minute just so that he can go as long as he can without putting up with The Waitress and the spawn. There’s nothing selfless about that.

If anything, _she’s_ the selfless one. Refusing to go back to work until her two friends are well enough. Checking up on them. Bringing them big dumb balloons and flowers and well, okay, she hasn’t brought any kind of presents yet, but she was planning on it. She’s definitely taking time out of her life to hang around in this cesspit and that has to be the complete opposite of selfishness. Not to mention that she hasn’t _once_ resorted to buying a pack of coke. No, if anyone’s the selfish one, it’s Mac. She has had a lot of time to come to this conclusion, and it’s just sad, really. Mac is pathetic, but she never thought he’d be pathetic enough to try offing himself without trying coke first. His father was a drug dealer after all.

Dee sniffles, bites back her urges. She could use a hit from someone who actually makes her feel good about herself, but she wants to be here for Mac. Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because she needs to make sure Mac knows how much of an idiot he is to think he could kill himself for no good reason. Well, having his best friend of almost two decades dying is a fairly good reason, but Dennis isn’t worth dying over. No one is.

“Do you remember what happened?” Dee asks.

“...Why do you look so ugly?”

“I wait _days_ for you to wake up and that’s the first thing you say to me.” Dee crosses her arms. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Mac pauses, starting to tear up. “…Did I miss the funeral?”

“It’s postponed until-”

“-Not that it matters since that coked up hospital messed up my boy’s body!” Frank says.

Mac makes a confused sound.  

Dee presses her lips together, trying to regain the sympathy she had harboured for him. “Now I get why you were so freaked out the other night. Those nurses really did a number on Dennis’ body, huh? No hope for reconstruction.”

Mac bites his lip, a dramatic tear rolling down his cheek. “I saw him…”

“Yeah,” Dee pouts, “It’s been hard on you, hasn’t it? Look, Frank and I were talking-”

“We’re going to send you to the nuthouse!”

“Frank!” Dee hisses, “We’re just going to assign you with a psychiatrist while you’re in here. They’re offering a free service since you tried to commit suicide.”

Mac’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t try to kill myself!”

“Oh, yeah, no, you did though.”

Mac reaches up to the bandage around his neck and shakes his head.

“No. No way. Suicide is not badass. I would never-”

“Deandra found you in a pool of your own blood, Mac!”

“Tell us what you think happened,” Dee says, holding her chin in her hand.

“I didn’t kill myself. You killed yourself. Look at how ugly and blotchy your face is, you ugly bitch!”

“Stop taking it out on me and explain why you tried to cut your head off or I’m going to finish the job myself.”

Mac grimaces at her, then he turns to stare at Charlie laying limp in his bed. “I was…”

“It’s okay, take your time,” Dee says, and nods at Frank to leave. Except Frank doesn’t get the hint and she whispers to him harshly, “Go get the psychiatrist you idiot!”

Mac doesn’t take his eyes off Charlie as he speaks. “I bought snacks for our movie marathon…”

Dee nods. Frank slips out of the twin-bedded room and, through the glass windows, Dee watches him traipse down the hall looking like he doesn’t know where the shit he’s going. Dee doesn’t budge, assuming the role of therapist.

“I was going to take a piss and I… uh, I must have slipped over… I woke up and I went into my bedroom…” He turns to look Dee in the eyes, his uneven breaths ramping up again. “I think I hallucinated Dennis again… he was so real, I _felt_ him…”

Dee grimaces at the brief image that enters her mind, of Mac clutching a pillow and pretending it’s Dennis.

“Man, you have to stop taking drugs.”

“I’m not on any drugs!” Mac cries exasperatedly.

“Yeah, and neither am I.”

Mac squints at her, “I haven’t had anything except beer since…” He trails off, then says, “It’s more than I can say about you.”

Dee winces at the stab but restrains herself from getting fired up, if only because Mac is raising his fingers to his bandaged neck again.

She begins with malice hot on her tongue but falters halfway through, “That’s where you…”

Mac’s eyes well up again; his shaking fingers hover over the bandages. Instinctively Dee reaches out and takes Mac’s other hand in hers, caresses it softly as tears start rolling down Mac’s face. She swallows back tears of her own, driving sticky spit down her throat and sniffing hard. Luckily Frank bursts into the room with a woman behind him, causing Dee to retract her hand. She stands back, wiping her face and blinking away her moment of weakness.

“Hey there, I’m Tabitha, do you remember me?” She says to no one in particular as she approaches Mac’s bed.

Dee doesn’t recognise her at first. God, she can barely remember that whole week because of the wine in a can idea. They’d tried to do an intervention on Frank so many years ago. Dee remembers calling up well reviewed therapists and found this bitch, but she doesn’t remember any interactions with her beyond meeting her in the office. Dee supposes that she is notoriously unforgettable – hilarious, beautiful, thin – who would forget Deandra Reynolds? Only they never paid the therapist, not that she did anything anyway.

“Oh no, not this bitch,” Dee says to Frank, “We need another one.”

Tabitha sits down on a chair beside Mac’s bed and takes out a notebook. “I’m afraid there isn’t anyone else available. I am actually all booked out myself, but I felt it a duty to take on your case since we have history together.”

“This doesn’t sound good,” Frank tells Dee.

“Yeah, why did you bring this bitch?” Dee hisses.

Frank shrugs. “She said she was assigned to Mac’s case.”

“It’s your money, Frank, you can spend it on useless bitches all you like!”

“I’ve been doing that since the day you were born, Deandra.”

“YOU ASSHOLE!”

Tabitha clears her throat. “This is a free service, actually. I took on your case because I remembered how much you needed help,” she crosses one knee over the other,  “And I think that still rings true. ”

“You donkey brained idiot!” Dee screams at her father, “Of all the therapists you chose _this_ one.”

“I volunteered,” Tabitha clarifies.

“I don’t have donkey brains!” Frank insists. “I have a certificate to say i don’t. Do you?! How am I meant to remember every ugly broad in the city? There’s a hell of a lot more of them than attractive ones.”

Tabitha pops her pen out against her notepad. She tries to speak louder than Frank, “Alright, let’s all take a seat so we can sort out the layers of tension between all of you. Considering our history, I think it’s fitting to start with you, Frank.”

Dee laughs and Frank glares at her, then back to the therapist. His eyes go wide as he says, “It’s meant to be an intervention for Mac, not me!”

“Yes, well, we’ll get into all of it. After you, I’d like to hear from Dee, then we’ll flesh out what led Mac to his decision.”

Dee, Frank and Mac all exchange looks.

“Nah,” Frank says.

“Yeah, I’ll go without,” Dee says.

“I’ll be fine,” Mac joins in.

“See, he’ll be fine,” Dee says, shuffling the therapist out of her chair.

Frank pushes her out of the room and says, “Get out, you whore.”

Frank hangs out in the doorway, palming his frizzy hair and worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Dee sits back on Mac’s bed and grimaces at him.

“I’ll be fine,” Mac insists, but his eyes are so red and his face is so pale that Dee can only _want_ to believe him. “I just need to sleep it all off.”

 

 

Dennis stays in the junk room for a millennium. He suffers through his shaking withdrawals, his mind powering through at 1000mph. He has to lock himself in place with his fingers clawing the boxes beneath him and his teeth gnawing his thigh. The pumping pistons and accelerating electrons,the feeling of his whole body being rapt in pins and needles starts to decrease. Slowly he starts to feel calm again. He loosens his grip, lets his legs stretch and his back lay crooked on the boxes as he works out the knots in his muscles.

After a long while of massaging his muscles back to life, he stands up. Pushes out of the door into the kitchen. It’s been hours. Hours and hours and he thinks he should crave food but lacks an appetite for anything but the blood that still seeps into the carpet in his bedroom. He draws toward it. White street lamp light etches the contours of curtains. He passes his standing mirror as he enters the bedroom but does not see himself, nor Don Chumph nor Brian LeFevre nor Hal Gerriwood. It’s like he’s not even there.

He sinks to the carpet and snorts the blood-soaked lint like smack. Sucks onto the dry flesh of the carpet like it’s a sponge saturated in wine. And it frightens him. He frightens himself because he knows what he is now. After trapping himself in deep reflection, he realised with immense horror that he must be a vampire. The signs match up. Demonic, certainly. The sun burning him to the point he feels like he’s on fire, no reflection, and… the blood. If he isn’t in Hell then he’s on Earth in a world where supernatural beings really do exist, and he’s one of them, and he’s _killed_ a person… or two.

Including his best friend.

Dennis hiccups laughter, hysterical like Mac’s hours ago. Confused and helpless as he finds himself scouring the shadow where Mac’s body laid in the carpet, in the sheets, in the lacquer over the wooden bedframe. He lays down on the carpet where he’d lowered Mac’s body. Stares up at a familiar ceiling. He hadn’t meant to kill him. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone. It was instinct. True to his instinct to hate Mac. But he doesn’t hate Mac enough to want to _kill_ him. Still, that small sliver of not-hate wasn’t enough to stop him. It was the scent of a _baby_.

He shudders in on himself. Whoever made him this way is going to pay – whether it’s God or the devil himself in the form of a man sporting a bowl cut. Dennis is going to demand answers, even if it means…

He clenches his teeth, sits up, and goes into the living room to find Mac’s laptop. By the time he hears a heartbeat coming toward the apartment, he has been researching everything to do with vampires for days, back to back, with eighteen browser windows open and multiple tabs in each. He hurriedly closes the laptop and darts into the junk room before the apartment door opens, hunger scraping at his stomach.

“Mom! I’m not ignoring you I’m – would you let me talk?!” The Waitress says into her phone as she slams the door behind her. “I am doing _fine_ . I have a top floor apartment that I made Frank buy me – YES, _BUY_ , Mom. Ever since that dickbag Dennis – I don’t give a shit if I’m being crass Mom, he’s an asshole! He told me he loved me and–”

Dennis’ stomach rumbles. He recalls how good Mac tasted and he thinks about the baby and Dee and how he could just go for the Waitress and no one would give a shit. Suck the life out of her so he can soothe his hunger pains, feel the rush of blood soaring through his veins.

“He’s a total asshole! He ran his own business into the ground! Frank has enough business sense to kick the bar into gear again… no, you’re not allowed to visit. I’ll come to you. I don’t want you to – I already told you, it was IVF! I’m not allowed to know who the real father is.”

Dennis presses himself up against the wall and listens to her movement in the apartment. For a while she’s been standing still at the front door; now she’s moving towards the bedroom.

“Frank?” She retches loudly, “He’s _not_ the father. It’s – no, we _do_ have history but Mom, he _owes_ me. So yes, he _owes_ me a damn apartment. God! Just be happy for me; I’m doing well!”

Dennis rolls his eyes when he hears her starting to cry.

“GOD DAMN IT!” The Waitress yells at the top of her lungs, “WHY DON’T THEY EVER COMMUNICATE WITH ME GOD FREAKING DAMN IT. I CAME ALL THE WAY HERE TO CLEAN UP AND IT’S ALREADY BEEN DONE I’VE WASTED…”

She storms back out of the apartment and Dennis slinks out of the junk room, lathers himself over the door to their apartment, taking in the scent of the space the Waitress had just occupied. He can smell her still, hear her yelling at her mother down the hall, who sounds as bitchy as her daughter. Shivers ripple up his arms, his eyes burning dry from staring at a screen for so long. He opens the front door slowly and steps out into the hallway.

The Waitress’ voice echoes in the stairwell. He moves down the hall, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He becomes acutely aware of the people within each apartment. Most of them are full, with people sleeping and others watching late night TV, movement and stillness beyond wooden doors. A small dog runs out into the hallway and barks nonstop at him. He turns and snarls at the thing, and it squeals, running back into the apartment it came from. Dennis watches it and walks toward the open door.

Two slippered feet lie on top of a cheap looking bed. TV static splays blue and grey stripes across the room. The dog jumps onto its worn-out cushion and snarls back at Dennis within its fabric palace. Dennis snickers, then draws his eyes to the owner of the feet. A fat woman lays on top of the bed sheets. A horribly drab nightgown hangs loose on her saggy frame. Her heartbeat sounds powerful, but not strong. Like it’s working too hard, beating too fast against thick blood cells clogging up the lines.

Dennis ignores the chirping dog as he closes the apartment door behind him, then rounds the bed to observe the woman’s face. Eyes closed. Skin made of crumpled paper running like soft cracks down her cheeks, around her neck and over her lopsided breasts bound loosely in her nightgown.

He feels his fangs pop out. It makes him sick, but he feels like he has no choice. It’s a kill or be killed world. And this woman is almost dead anyway.

There comes a point where he can’t hold back. The incessant yapping from the dog as Dennis empties her body isn’t enough of a distraction this time. Each cell tastes like liquid butter. And when he finishes, he leaves her body drooping over the bed like a surrealist painting come to life, to death. He turns away from her, fist to his nose, thumb on his wet lips. Blood sizzling and popping within him like hot grease in a pan.

He returns to the apartment. Pulls a chair in front of the window in the living room and yanks the curtains apart. The lights are on. No reflection of himself in the window pane. He feels alive but he wants to test that he’s really there. That he really exists. And so he draws the laptop into his lap and waits until morning, waits until the sun will rise and will shine on him. And he’ll see then whether or not the sun will turn his skin crispy, smoky, burn him boneless.

 

 

Mac will be released today, just in time for the funeral. He’d hoped he would be able to leave with Charlie, but the nurses release Charlie earlier. He feels bad about having to stay longer than Charlie, and not only because he knows how much Charlie had wanted to stay as long as Mac. Frank keeps going on about how he has to pay rent for his own apartment, for Dee’s apartment, for Mac’s apartment, for The Waitress’ apartment, _and_ Mac and Charlie’s hospital bills. It sounds like a lot, and Mac does not give a rat’s ass.

He turns his phone around and around in his lap, spinning it by the corner, watching the glowing light play off the dim hospital room. His Mom came to visit yesterday. She sat in the broken chair by the barred window and smoked an electric cigarette because they wouldn’t let her smoke otherwise. He’d tried to tell her he didn’t do it, he would never… he had just been suffering from sleep deprivation. His Mom grunts in understanding, and after about 40 minutes of her staring out the barred window, Bonnie came in to collect his Mom.

Bonnie had given him the most pitiful look and Mac had crossed his arms and hadn’t noticed until they’d exited the room that they’d left him a little present. A plush toy in the shape of a scraggly dog, which kind of looks like Poppins if he looks hard enough. He hugs it under his arm. A nameless dog for now, because Poppins died and Dennis Jr. died and good thing Charlie hadn’t decided to name his kid after Dennis because as far as Mac’s concerned, both those names are cursed. If he’s going to name his plush toy at all he’ll have to find an eternal name that isn’t God or Jesus, because they’ve all died in one way or another too.

He unlocks his phone. Sifts through the angry messages from Dee until he gets to the one containing Mandy’s number.

She answers, “O, Mac, it’s you?”

Mac cuts to the chase, “Can I talk to Brian?”

Mandy hums, “Maybe another time, Mac. I’m just getting him ready to stay at my sister’s while I’m-”

“-Please, I just need to hear his voice…”

Mandy pauses for a long time. When she speaks, her voice sounds warning, “I know ya have been through a lot but I don’t want ya to prank me again, okay? It’s not nice to call up pretending to be Dennis. That’s _his_ tired game.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, I know ya boys like to mess around but it’s really not very nice. I don’t want to influence Brian in that way. I meant what I said a few days ago, I’m going to give ya some time off from us. Have a think about how ya interact with me and Brian and in a few weeks’ time when you’ve thought it all over, I’ll let ya speak to us.”

“What? Wait-”

“Goodbye for now, Mac.”

The line goes dead and he tries calling her back, but she doesn’t answer. He doesn’t remember calling her… he doesn’t remember trying to commit suicide either… maybe there’s a whole lot he’d forgotten about while he was sleep deprived. He tries to remember… feels weak thinking about Dennis, and how warm he had felt, how his weight had been heavy on Mac’s dick, how Dennis’ lips had been on his neck. Mac swallows hard, the movement upsetting the bandages around his neck. He cries freely. He never wants to forget that night, even if everyone else remembers a different version than he does. Dennis had come to him. He’d wrapped Dennis in his arms, in his lips. It’s his last memory, a fake one, maybe, but a good one to end on. He won’t look in the casket when the time comes. They’ll be burying a mangled monster and he doesn’t want to replace the glory of his newest memory with what Dennis looks like now.

Mac dials his home number, a digital prayer to God through the portal that allowed Dennis to return to him one last time. It rings out, goes to voicemail. He grits his teeth, blinks back tears as he sits through Dennis’ year old voice, entangled with his own.

When the tone beeps, he starts his prayer.

“Dear God…”

He stops. His voice echoes in the room, bouncing off quiet walls. He knows he must have been dreaming about the other night; it’s not the first time, but he wants so badly to believe it was real. To believe in something. For someone to speak to him, hold him, tell him he’s loved and that even though his best friend in the whole world is gone, he’ll be okay.

Saliva is thick in his throat as he speaks. “Thank you for bringing Dennis back to me that night… I know it was meant to be only once, but… please, I want to talk to him, I want to hear his v-”

Mac’s heart stops in his throat when he hears the receiver pick up on the landline end. Immediately he feels ashamed for doing something so stupid. He had heard the gang argue about who was going to clean up the mess in his apartment and he knew they’d decided to send The Waitress. She’s going to make fun of him for it, or worse, use it as evidence that he really is depressed and in need of a psychiatrist.

He’s about to spew some bullshit lie to cover himself, but loses all capacity to function when he hears Dennis’ gravelly voice.

“Help me… Mac…”


	32. His mother raised him not to play with angels (who wore masks in the light of day)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: violence
> 
> Beta'd by the most wonderful lornemalvoofficial <3

Mac leaps out of bed, his heart pounding, his ears ringing with a voice as dead as bones. On the bed Charlie had occupied, Dee has left some clothes for him folded neatly on top of the bedding. As he quickly changes into them, his wallet and keys drop onto the linoleum floor and he snatches them, shoves them in his pockets. He’s about to leave, but hesitates, deciding not to leave without the stuffed toy.

He hails a taxi and in the backseat he gripes the toy, feels the soft faux fur and the little beaded eyes and the firm stitching contouring the fabric into the dog shape. The city comes to life in his periphery as he runs his thumb along the dog’s black eyes. Early morning brightness splays across glass offices, the warmth of the sun heating up the stone of older buildings. When the taxi pulls up at his apartment, Mac darts into the foyer and bolts up the stairs. His eyes glide past visible black marks in the cement stairwell made by the Ass Pounder 4000 that no one has bothered to buff out.

He’s out of breath by the time he reaches his level, a little light headed too. He’s gone from sitting in a hospital bed for almost a week to running at top speed and it can’t be a coincidence that he sees an EMT team hustling down the hall before he steps out into it. He leans against the wall to catch his breath. He doesn’t warn them that they won’t be able to take the woman on the stretcher into the lift, since it’s broken. They’ll soon find out anyway.

The apartment door hangs flimsy in the doorway, like cardboard, finished with scented spray not strong enough to disguise the homelessness beyond. Keys jangle as he takes them out of his pocket, metal clanging and drums snaring in his ears, hammering through his sinuses. Keys turning, gears clicking, the handle of the confessional box and God’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

The door slams open on the hinges and knocks back toward him, and Mac keeps it open by spreading his palm out across it, lets his toy drop to the ground and the door smack his hand crimson. There’s a figure drenched in sunlight in front of the window. Mac shades his eyes with his hand, rubs them to make sure he’s seeing this right. The telephone is pulled from its spot on the coffee table, handle and cord strewn out along the floor.

A red light blips.

Mac’s hearing goes deaf as he stares at the figure’s back. Rubs his eyes shut again and opens to see the same thing. Shivers at sonic speed wrap his frame, like he’s been walking out in the snow and come back inside. Cold flesh meets the warmth of an insulated room and the difference is not immediate; it’s numbing for a long while.

The scent of smoke alerts him. A mirage of white flame flickering about the body in front of the window, like the glowing halos behind holy figures, white hot and foreboding. He dashes toward the curtains and pulls them shut, blotting out the brightness. He turns quickly to see Dennis’ pink speckled skin. The sight of it resembles Cricket’s burnt face. Dennis groans in pain and collapses on the ground in a foetal position. Smoke rises from him in dark plumes as if an evil spirit is leaving his body. Smoke lifting off him to mix with the atmosphere, dissolve into pure vapour and create a violent storm under God’s opposing wrath.

And the evil leaves, but the dark encompasses Dennis, shadows his features and for a moment Mac thinks logically. He must be dreaming. Or have caught a thief. And just to be sure that the person he’s seeing isn’t made of air, he aims a hard kick to the person’s gut.

“Oof!”

Mac turns hollow the moment he hears Dennis’ pained grunt. He kicks again for good measure, connecting his boot with his dead friend’s stomach.

“Stop…”

He drives his boot into Dennis’ side, nudges the man over so Dennis is on his back, boot on his abdomen. Dennis meekly paws at Mac’s boot, but ultimately lies limp on the ground, panting and face flushed. Mac feels bad for hurting him but he also doesn’t at all, not in comparison to how much Dennis is hurting him right now. Mac applies pressure on his foothold, watches Dennis’ eyes going wide, watering, and his weak hands trembling at the jagged sole.

“What the HELL is this?” Mac growls.

Dennis looks up at him, eyes shiny like flashlights through fake diamonds.

Mac holds his foot down, hovering, attempting to be firm against his instinct to flee. “Are you… shit! What’s your name? Starts with A?”

“Mac I’m-”

“The cops released you, huh? Must have realized they got the wrong guy since Dennis is… is dead now. And what, you’ve come back to torture me?” Mac shifts his foot to Dennis7’s hip and pushes him away. “That’s sick man. I’ve lost my best friend. You can’t come in here pretending to be him anymore.”

Dennis7 recoils and pulls himself to lean against the nearest wall.

“Dude, would you shut up? It’s me, Dennis.”

Mac holds his ground. “NO.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Mac falters, asks seriously, “Are you… are you an angel?”

At that, Dennis laughs. His lips draw wide over sparkling white teeth. Mac hasn’t heard that sound in forever. It sends him into involuntary tears and he hides it by starting to pace in front of this asshole. Kicks the telephone further along the ground in his rage.

“Of course you’re not,” Mac says, tearing his hands through his unwashed hair. “You’re some kind of…” He pauses to scrutinise the man slouched on the floor and there’s no way it’s Dennis7, unless he got the finest facial reconstruction after being released from jail. But why, why in God’s name would Dennis7 do that? Dennis7 was just someone for Mac to screw around with… they had fun together… they weren’t in love... Not like… Mac throws his arms up in the air and starts pacing again. “I don’t understand what you’re doing, God! Are you trying to torture me?!”

“Stop talking to God like he’s real…”

Mac’s speechless. He comes across the telephone and kicks it again, sending the handle flying across the room, the cord flailing in the air. The telephone set lands in the kitchen and clatters along the tiles.

After the noise settles, Dennis says softly, “I’m glad you’re alive, Mac.”

Mac cackles. “That’s some rich bullshit, Dennis.  _ You’re _ the one who’s meant to be dead!”

Dennis shrugs, “Well obviously I’m alive as well.”

A chord in Mac’s heart twinges. “YOU SON OF A BITCH! I wish you  _ were _ dead so I don’t have to try to understand any of this!”

Dennis sighs, “It’s pretty simple how I-”

“NO,” Mac shouts, standing over Dennis, “You don’t get to talk until I’m done! I need to understand why you did this! I don’t give a shit  _ how _ you did it I need to know  _ why _ you didn’t talk to me for over a damn year and… and why you decided to fake your own death without telling me!” Mac laughs dryly, tears streaming down his face, “I really thought you had  _ died _ , Dennis.”

Dennis shakes his head and starts to pull himself up to a standing position, still heavily relying on the support from the wall and he says, “It wasn’t part of my plan to-”

Mac’s eyes go wide. “Your plan… you… you always claimed that you were a God… but you’re-” Mac turns and tries to cover his maniacal laugh with his hand, his other hand on his hip, “You’re Jesus Christ!”

“It  _ would _ make a lot more sense, considering Jesus came back from the dead.”

Mac paces. “I don’t understand this.”

Dennis watches him. “You do smell funny.”

“I must be in hell!”

Dennis sniffs the air. “If I turned you, I shouldn’t be able to smell you, right?”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT DENNIS?!”

Dennis frowns. “Whatever, never mind. I just need you to tell me where you put Frank’s credit card.”

Dennis pushes off the wall but stumbles as he goes toward the bedroom. 

“OH SO YOU’RE JUST GOING TO LEAVE AGAIN?!”

Dennis grips the back of the couch as if he’s about to fall over. Evenly, he says, “I have unfinished business.”

Mac snaps, moves beyond his desire to run and cuts to the next step. He darts over to Dennis and grabs him by the collar, slamming him against the front door. The handle rattles behind them; Dennis’s foot crushes an ear of Mac’s soft toy.

“You come back into my life like you’re Jesus or some shit and you’re LEAVING AGAIN?!”

Dennis is speechless. Breathless. His collar ruffled up around his neck, his eyes wild and bulging. Mac doesn’t understand how Dennis is here right now. If it isn’t God and it isn’t a doppelganger, then the only tangible thing is how Dennis feels with Mac’s weight pressed on him. His forearm pressed against Dennis’ throat, Dennis’ long fingers making feeble attempts to loosen Mac’s hold. The only thing that makes sense is that Mac can  _ feel _ Dennis and  _ hear _ him and even smell him too. Dee or even the psychiatrists could have told him that he’d imagined the other night and he might have believed them if he’s not experiencing a repeat event right now. It’s absolutely insane that Dennis is even here right now, but it’s the only thing that’s keeping Mac living.

And livid.

“You mess around with people who love you – for what – a chance to start over?” Mac spits, eyes levelling with Dennis’ averted eyes. “What makes you think I would want to even talk to you after what you did to me?”

Dennis struggles under Mac’s hold, claws at his arm, but quickly resigns. Almost keens into Mac. And god  _ damn it _ does it feel good. Mac snarls, feeling his dick stirring in his pants, a fierce act of betrayal, confronting the source of his woes going hand in hand with what gets him off. Who he’s wanted to get off  _ with _ for more than half of his life.

He had entertained his insanity from his hallucination. Entertained the idea of God giving him a one night stand, one last chance. And his voice quivers in fear when he tries to confirm it, “Were you really there, the other night?”

When Dennis swallows, Mac feels his adam’s apple bob beneath his forearm. His head moves ever so slightly, his eyebrows shooting up, and his neck goes taut as his eyes linger on Mac catching his lip between his teeth. Dennis doesn’t say a word. Leans into Mac’s pressure, words and physique and hopes that Mac will push on him. Punish him. Choke him and try to kill him like he had tried to kill Mac.

“Why didn’t you stop me from trying to hurt myself?”

Dennis frowns in response.

“If you’re really here… if God, or whoever, has really given you a second chance at life… then… let me have another chance at kissing you for the first time…”

Mac leans in and he feels Dennis’ wide eyes on him, Dennis’ neck craning under his arm and Mac meets inches away from Dennis’ face. Contours matching up, chin to scraggly goatee covered chin, tip of the nose against flaring nostrils, brow to rising brow. Dennis is shaking beneath Mac’s weight, the rippling tension between them making him sweat and want, and he closes his eyes. Feels Mac press hot lips against his and he freezes. Absolutely freezes, his body shutting down. Then Mac cups his cheeks and slips his tongue passed Dennis’ lips, only a second into the kiss, as hungry for passion as Dennis would be if he would let himself be. He’s trying so hard to hold himself together, hold himself back, but that very moment Mac’s tongue runs along the enamel in Dennis’ teeth, he can’t hold it back anymore. Like a jolt of electricity, his fangs activate, slicing through Mac’s flesh.

Mac yelps and reels in surprise. A streak of blood flies through the air in Dennis’ vision, like the overexposed images of brake lights at night. He bites down on his own lips, fighting the urge to sink into his freshly healed friend, and he grabs Mac by his head and shoves him into the nearby closet, locks the door and sinks down to the ground, head bumping off the wood as Mac turns around to kick and punch and fight his way out. Relentless but impossible.

“WHAT THE HELL DENNIS! LET ME OUT!!!”

Dennis holds his ground, his own blood dribbling down his chin. The streak of exquisite blood on the floorboards curtails into the wooden grooves and Dennis snarls, fighting the urge to crawl over and lick the floor in case it would give him the strength to release his friend from safety.

“Try to keep it down bro, you just have to hang tight for fourteen hours.”

“FOURTEEN HOURS?! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME DUDE?!”

“On the contrary,” Dennis says, rather matter-of-factly, “I’m trying to turn you into a vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty! I am going away on holiday for a week so i'll be updating after i get back.


	33. The devil’s jaws are far too weak to take hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a slight alteration of Alt-J's song Adeline.   
> Beta'd by lornemalvoofficial
> 
> sorry for the lack of updates. life has been hectic!

Mac kicks and punches the broom closet door for a few minutes, before realising that he’s not going to be able to get out of this unless Dennis allows him to. He sinks to the ground, seething.  He crosses his arms over his chest, kicks his feet up against the back of the cupboard, pushing brooms and random junk out of the way. Inside it’s cramped as shit and dark, and it smells funky like mould might be growing somewhere that Mac can’t see.

He slaps himself in the face to make sure he’s awake because, Jesus, he was just getting used to Dennis being gone - not dead,  _ gone _ \- and now he’s back, alive, or not really dead but not really living. He needs a goddamn drink. All this back and forth… He pinches his dick, only softening now. Definitely awake. Definitely very much living in the present. Definitely extremely furious and confused, and no, it has nothing to do with his sexuality what with being physically locked in a closet. He’s 110% gay and horny for his best friend beneath him so long as he isn’t actually a rotting corpse-like freak.

Mac babies his tongue in his mouth where Dennis had bit him. It’s indented, but healing quick.

“A vampire?!” Mac repeats, anger still evident in his voice.

He hears Dennis clear his throat. “Yeah.”

Mac is quiet for a long time. Quietly seething, his body shaking and brooms rattling and knocking about as he fidgets. He can’t believe this. It’s insane. Absolutely insane. For one thing, Dennis has come back from the dead. And for another thing, he’s come back as a freaking  _ vampire _ , as if that’s totally normal. Nothing about this is normal. Undoubtedly Dennis has come back and he  _ has _ just bit into him like a tasty piece of meat and nothing else makes sense, so this has to make  _ some _ sense?

“So… you’re a  _ vampire _ .”

“Yeah, dude, how many times do I have to say it?”

Mac shifts in the closet, pulling much of his weight down to the small of his back and lifting his feet higher against the back wall. He kicks more brooms in the process, and something on one of the top shelves topples to the ground. He can’t see where it lands and doesn’t bother trying to put it back either. At this angle, he’s able to pull his phone out from his back pocket and send Dee a series of short texts.

_ Something came up. _

_ Can’t make it to funeral. _

_ DON’T postpone. _

_ DON’T CALL. _

_ BITCH. _

_ Talk later _ .

Then he turns his phone on silent and slips it in his back pocket.

“Are you sure you’re not like, a zombie? I mean your face did look kind of… gory.”

Dennis says nothing in reply and Mac holds his breath, waiting. He waits so long that his cheeks swell and his eyes start to water and when he finally takes in a gulp of air, his ears are ringing and he wonders if he hasn’t just been hallucinating again. His breath evens out and he holds still, listening hard to hear Dennis’ breathing too. Just an inch of wood between them. And to think he could be standing in a cemetery watching the casket go down six feet under.

“Wait, if you’re here, then… what are they burying today?”

“Oh… you’re having a funeral for me?”

Mac blinks in the darkness. “Yeah, it’s meant to be in a few hours. They’re going to freak the shit out when they find out there’s no body. Frank’s already pissed about the state of you… how you were when you arrived but see, that doesn’t make sense to me because I saw you coming off the plane and you looked fine to me. Dead, but not mangled and shit like the morgue told us a couple of days ago.”

Dim light appears at the gap between the door and the floor, then returns quickly. Shortly after, Mac hears the sound of his laptop turning on. He thinks about trying to fish out his phone again so he can play games on it but he’s worried about accidentally answering a call from a member of the gang. He doesn’t want to talk to them right now. The only person he wants to talk to is Dennis because there’s so much he wants to know, so much he has to tell and only so much time he has to be nice to Dennis before the guy will let him out. That way he won’t be forced to piss his pants.

“I’m still not completely convinced that you aren’t someone pretending to be Dennis. Tell me something only Dennis would know to say.”

“I’m not doing that shit, Mac,” Dennis says over loud typing, “God, all you have to do is stay in there and shut up for once in your life. You used to prefer staying in the closet.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Mac says to himself, then louder, “Asshole.”

Mac kicks his boots against the wall and presses his weight on the door, hoping to pop the door out of the hinges, but he hasn’t attained enough mass yet to pull off the feat. He slouches, then clocks his arm around to try jiggling the door handle. Since his escape isn’t successful he balls his hand in a fist and punches a shadowed box.

He demands a few more times to be let out. Dennis is relentless in his rejection. His back starts to ache, blood being cut off around the ankle of his boots, and his stomach growls.

“Do you think the hospital realized you were gone and made that story up to cover up the fact that they’d lost a dead person?” Mac wonders, “I mean, honestly, dude? Their story is  _ way  _ more believable than you being a vampire. They could have just got any dead person and beat them up. I bet there’s a bunch of nameless dead bodies in the morgue, just like in SVU.”

“I’m looking it up,” Dennis says.

Mac listens to more keyboard tapping and mouse clicking and the sounds of pop ups scaring Dennis because he still doesn’t understand how to use computers. He smiles, and it feels like a blade being smacked against a coconut shell. Stiffness cracks apart, sweetness oozes out. He bites back tears. It’s been so long since he’s felt like this, and yet, the coconut solidifies, flakes out when Mac remembers it’s not every day he has so much to be pissed off about. Dennis hadn’t even asked him if he  _ wanted _ to be a vampire. He’s being forced into it. Sure, the living forever thing wouldn’t be too bad, but don’t vampires survive on blood? He’s not even sure if God will give him a pass on his sexual orientation, but he  _ definitely _ isn’t going to cut him some slack if he’s going to walk up to the gates of heaven with the blood of thy neighbour over his hands.

“What if I don’t want to be a vampire?”

“Mac,” Dennis reasons with him, “I’m not watching you get old and ugly and then have you die on me.”

“What’s fair’s fair,” Mac quips.

Dennis pauses. “Come on, man, no one gets me like you do.”

“So… does that mean…” Mac starts playfully, “You’re trying to turn me into a vampire so that we can be lovers for eternity?”

It’s Dennis’ turn to be silent for a while. Mac bites his lip in frustration. He wishes he was on the other side of the door with Dennis so he could read his facial expressions, so he could freaking slap the guy in the face because honestly, Mac is  _ done _ with beating around the bush. He could forgive Dennis for everything as long as he faces up to the fact that he missed Mac. That he loves him and  _ wants _ him and that the reason he left in the first place was because Dennis is a coward and couldn’t commit himself to Mac. But with a second chance, a refresher… all Dennis has to do is admit it all.

“Dennis? Are you still there?”

“Listen to me,” Dennis hisses. The tone in Dennis’ voice turns dominating and Mac feels compelled to comply with whatever Dennis asks. “I need you to stay still. Don’t make a noise!” Dennis waits for a reply, and hurriedly prompts, “Answer me!”

“Okay.”

Dennis doesn’t say anything more. Mac hears footsteps, then after a few minutes, the door to his apartment opens.

“MAC?!” Charlie shouts, sounding worried, “Dude?! Are you here?”

“Mac we know you left the hospital early, you’re not meant to just run out like that,” Dee calls out.

“Oh hey, Dee, check this out,” Charlie says.

“Ew, what is that?”

“It’s the dog I got my Mom to drop off.”

“It’s  _ gross _ . Did you find it in the trash?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, “It means Mac has been here!”

“Let’s look around,” Dee agrees.

Shit! Mac has the sudden urge to grab out his phone and check the time since the funeral must be starting soon, but he finds that he cannot move. He remains stationary, transfixed in a spell that has his muscles and bones rapt, motionless. He listens to them search around his apartment, and he cringes in anticipation for when they’ll fling open the closet door. Except they don’t. The front door closes and the footsteps leave and he’s left in silence. Long, uncomfortable silence. He wants to shout out for Dennis, call him back, plead with him to let him out because God damn does he need to take a piss, and eat something that isn’t gross hospital food. But he can’t even talk. He can’t make a sound.

All he can do is wait, and consider that maybe Dennis wasn’t joking when he had said he’d keep Mac locked up for 14 straight hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this arc is getting closer and closer to being done, but there will be another one or possibly two fics in the series. thanks for sticking it out with me as i go.


	34. ¡Tierra, trágame!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: drug abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms  
> special feature: Dee/Artemis!
> 
> Sorry that it's been a while!
> 
> beta stamp of approval by the wonderful lornemalvoofficial <3

Charlie inhales fumes from the open glue packet and throws his head back on the car seat headrest, hears the springs twang and the leather squeak and beer bottle caps popping every two minutes.

“Sure you don’t want any?” Charlie asks, offering the glue packet to Dee in the seat beside him.

Dee’s in the midst of draining her sixth beer and shakes her head in response, her lips still on the bottle. Once she finishes it, she removes her lips with a smack and burps loudly.

“Nah, I don’t want to try it in case I start hallucinating the men I’m missing in my life…”

Out the back window, the crowd in black migrate along over-shorn grass , akin to the dubious balls of dark coloured lint and animal droppings slowly moving across the carpet in his apartment. When he huffs glue at home, he watches those black marks glitch away, one moment there, the next a few inches down. Moving like they’re alive, like they’re black holes with legs and if he gets real close, gets close enough to smell them and turn them around, he sees their ghoulish faces as sorry as their scent.

“Dude…” Charlie drawls, “It feels like my teeth are falling out…”

Another beer bottle pops open. The sound of carbon fizzing functions as a placeholder for the sound of feet shuffling along the dry grass. Charlie sits up, screws the lid back on his glue and shoves it in a pocket in his jacket. He slaps his thighs a few times, works out the muscles in his mouth, cracks his neck, then his knuckles, rolls his head on his neck again and stamps on the floor of the car.

“Alright, I’m going in,” Charlie says.

He pulls the lever of the front passenger seat, simultaneously kicking the base to push the seat forward.

“I’m not,” Dee says tersely.

Charlie hammers his feet on the back of the seat. He howls, “I’m gonna go! We’re going!”

Dee ignores him. She collects the empty beer bottles and shoves them in the pocket sewn in behind the driver’s seat.

“Let’s go!”

“I’m not going if Mac’s not going.”

Charlie groans. “You  _ have _ to go, Dee. I’ll drag you out by your hair if I have to.”

“ _ You _ don’t want to go either.”

Drool dribbles out of the corner of Charlie’s mouth. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Dee crosses her arms, “I can’t believe Mac would do this to us…”

Charlie kicks the seat once more. He’d brought along goods to shut her up and shut himself up and shut anyone else up who can talk hard enough to get through his numbness. It’s already been ages; can’t they all move on yet? Better to move past it than to dwell on it. He lurches over to grab hold of Dee’s hair but she turns in her seat and kicks him away. At some point they both stop struggling against each other, leaving Dee’s heels digging into his waist and cheek. She looks out the back window, blinking furiously.

“Dee, Dee, Dee…” Charlie sings, “You’re not allowed to be sad. We promised.”

“I know but–” Dee hiccups and stops talking.

Charlie blinks, wriggling away from Dee’s jabbing heels . “Hey, hey, hey, look, hey,” he starts, fishing out a bag of coke from another pocket inside his jacket, “Look what I have…”

Dee sits up and sends Charlie a dark look, then snatches the bag from him, ripping the snap lock open. She shoves a finger in, then snorts it all in a flash, before pocketing the bag and raking her hands through her long hair.

“You’re right, you’re right,” she tries to convince herself, “I can’t miss this.”

She pulls the driver’s seat lever and the seat clangs forward, hitting the steering wheel with a leathered thud. She pauses for a moment, grabs the bag again and snorts one more time.

“Your whole family is going to be there, you can’t let them think you’re depressed or some shit by not rocking up.”

“Yeah. Oh God…” Dee drawls, the hit of drugs blasting through her bloodstream.

Charlie takes out his glue and takes a hit himself for good measure, then packs the glue nice and neat in his jacket pocket. His mouth is starting to feel really numb now. He wrangles his lips around his gums, knows he’s moving his lips but doesn’t feel anything except a slight smooth sensation. Prickles like anaesthesia. He starts to drool.

The drool dribbles down his chin as he says, “Oh shit, is Gail the Snail going to be here?”

Dee groans. “GOD DAMN IT! I didn’t bring any salt!”

“You know what, Dee? Might be good having her around. She might help you stay angry.”

Dee abruptly starts laughing, and Charlie smiles. Or thinks he does. He can’t really feel anything in the lower half of his face right now.

“Alright, alright! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Charlie orders, clapping his hands as Dee carries herself out of the car, “ _ Schnell _ !”

“Don’t say that Charlie,” Dee says, looking back at him as she climbs out.

“No, SNAIL!” Charlie shouts, pointing at Gail approaching the car.

He clambers out of the car and runs around to catch Dee trying to whip out his bag of coke. He lunges toward her and barrel rolls her onto the ground.

“CHARLIE WHAT THE SHIT!”

Charlie wrangles the bag of coke off her and shouts, “Don’t waste it on her! It’s not going to work the same as salt; don’t you know slime monsters get off on drugs too?! She’s going to go crazy!”

“Get off me, Charlie!” Dee spits, kicking Charlie away despite losing her hold on the drugs.

Snail stands over them, slobbering, “Did you just call me a slime monster?”

Dee stands up and brushes the dirt and grass off her pantsuit, “God, do you hear that? Look what you’ve started, Charlie.”

Charlie places the coke in with his glue and hurriedly moves toward the larger group of the Reynolds family with Dee, trying to lose Snail. They fail to escape her even when they join the wider group settled around the burial, but Charlie’s right, Snail’s presence does keep her riled up.

Before going into the reception hall, he shares the bag of coke with Dee and makes sure Dee isn’t selfish with it so he can use the rest later to suffer The Waitress’ torments. Inside, he and Dee go straight for the buffet. He eats a lot despite not being able to feel the walls of his mouth. It’s just something to do. After sitting – or rather, standing – through the funeral for hours he has lost the will to talk or listen or perform basic human functions. He doesn’t think he can even hear himself breathing anymore, but he must be because his record for holding his breath is two minutes and forty-seven seconds and he feels like he keeps living longer than that. All the noises in the room kind of fold into one flat dimension, like the impossible eighth fold in paper. Kind of there, kind of existing, but not really. Not important enough to make an impression, just kind of floating, compressed and wrinkled.

The Waitress and Mandy exchange forced smiles before Mandy ducks out early. After watching her slink out, Charlie observes the faces congregated in the reception room. Reynolds relatives that look either more like Dennis or more like Dee, and Charlie comes to slowly understand why the twins never looked like each other. Artemis is here too for some reason. Hanging around the buffet making crude jokes to Dee. Charlie doesn’t mind so much because The Waitress thinks Artemis is being rude and it works as a good deterrent. Doesn’t stop Snail from trying to slide in though.

“Where’s Mac?” Snail asks, trying to touch Charlie’s face and he reels away from her. He wouldn’t be able to feel it and while not a lot of things gross him out, Snail  _ really _ grosses him out. He also has no idea what she’s saying. Snails don’t really make a noise except for a slithering kind of noise as they leave their goopy snail trails but it’d be wrong to equate that majesty with Gail the Snail’s revolting presence.

“He’s still in the hospital,” Artemis explains.

Charlie looks at her and shakes his head with Dee. How can she not already tell how gross Snail is from just hearing her speak?

“Aw man, I was hoping he would sleep with me now that Dennis is dead. Since I’m like, the closest resembling cousin to him.”

Charlie watches Snail doing gross flirty eyes at him and he scours the room for something caustic to shower her in. He finds a little dish of salt and aggressively seasons her, chasing her out the room and down the hall. When Charlie comes back to the buffet, he looks at the cucumber sandwiches, wondering how many he can shove in his mouth at once.

“I’m serious Deandra, you need to get out of that toxic environment. Just because you have a regular gig there doesn’t mean you have to stick with it. Branch out a little,” Artemis tells Dee as she pulls her down toward the couch, pushing away whoever was sitting there before.

“Your DJ set?” Dee laughs derisively, but she settles down next to Artemis on the couch anyway, “What’s it called again? Beef and Cheddar?”

“Yeah babe, I normally do trance or trip hop but until I work out how to reduce the sound output in the mic I think your style is going to suit my hip hop sets better than the dreamier stuff.”

Dee grimaces. “Don’t call me babe.”

Artemis looks at Dee. “Hey, I’m just trying to offer you a distraction other than these gals--” she pulls down her blouse to reveal more of her breasts, “--But if that isn’t floating your boat, we can pop upstairs and I can screw you until you squirt harder than Christmas...” She curls hair behind Dee’s ear and coos, “Make you forget about what’s in the ground and have something hot to grind on…”

Dee flinches away from Artemis. “Don’t come on to me at my brother’s funeral.”

Artemis sits back on the couch and drapes her long hair over the thick velvet arm rest. “Suit yourself.”

Dee folds her arms, blushing, and refuses to look at Artemis. She barely remembers Christmas, and Artemis doesn’t have any qualms with bringing up what they did together. She’d been high as shit and she’s high as shit right now but her first mistake was sharing her stash with Artemis and she isn’t about to make it again. Still, this whole funeral thing is really bumming her out and if she can’t get angry she might as well get her rocks off. But not with Artemis. Some beefcake would be nice. She was hoping Mac would come with his beefcake entourage and surely one of those guys was bi. Or if not, they’d be bastards if they wouldn’t agree to hold her.

Artemis nudges her, “Hey, you got any more smack on you?”

“What? I, no, I haven’t-”

Dee flusters and Artemis puts a hand on her thigh. “Hey, babe, it’s a hard road. I’m not judging you. I just wanna get blood-eyed with you. Sharing is caring.”

“Why are you here?!”

Dee turns to growl at the owner of the voice, someone she’s been trying to avoid at the funeral worse than Snail. At least with Snail, there’s a sure fire way of getting her to leave your presence.

“You shouldn’t be here,” The Waitress is telling Artemis.

A waiter passes and Artemis grabs a plate full of cake before she replies, “I have every right to be here.”

“No you don’t,” The Waitress snaps, “He didn’t even like you.”

Artemis chuckles and takes a bite out of her cake.

“Hey, shut up you bitch!” Dee fires back, “He freaking  _ hated _ you!”

Frank comes out of literally nowhere, hair as frazzled and wild as his arms, “Deandra! Deandra! Calm down!”

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” Deandra roars as she gets to her feet, “I didn’t start this!”

Frank pulls at his hair and chews his lower lip, “Charlie! Charlie, help me out here!”

Charlie fits his eleventh cucumber sandwich into his mouth and shakes his head in response.

The Waitress looks Artemis dead in the eye. “I’m not asking again. You need to leave.”

Artemis pulls her feet up on the couch and continues to eat her cake. “Oh, you’re offended I made some risqué jokes at the burial? God, I’m  _ sorry _ I tried to make light of an unfortunate situation.”

“You are not invited, you are being disrespectful!” The Waitress insists.

“YOU BETTER SIT THE SHIT DOWN, WHORE!” Dee bellows, getting into The Waitress’ space.

“No. Artemis has to leave! Dennis wouldn’t have wanted her here.”

Dee turns to howl with laughter. “IF DENNIS KNEW YOU WERE AT HIS FUNERAL HE WOULD RISE FROM THE DEAD JUST TO SLIT YOUR THROAT, HE HATED YOU THAT MUCH!”

Tears well in The Waitress’ eyes as she fights against Dee’s rage, “That’s not true! He told me he loved me!”

“Wait… what?” Charlie shouts from the buffet.

“THAT WAS LIKE TEN YEARS AGO YOU DECREPIT ONION PEEL. YOU’RE FREAKING DELUSIONAL IF YOU THOUGHT DENNIS ACTUALLY MEANT THAT.”

Frank keeps trying to put his hands on Dee’s arms and she keeps jolting away from him, The Waitress keeps trying to divert the anger at Artemis, Artemis keeps eating her cake and Charlie keeps waiting for the thin slices of bread to dissolve in his mouth. And all the rest of the people at the reception stand frozen in place to witness the event.

“Shh, just calm down Deandra, save this for the stage.”

Dee turns to her Father. “IF YOU ASK ME TO CALM DOWN ONE MORE TIME I’LL FREAKING SHOVE YOUR FACE IN THE FIREPLACE FRANK UNTIL YOUR HAIR AND SKIN MELTS OFF, AND IF YOU’RE SO UNLUCKY TO STILL BE BREATHING I’LL BLEND IT ALL UP AND FORCE YOU TO SWALLOW YOUR OWN PITIFUL SCALP YOU BALDING PATHETIC OLD MAN.”

The Waitress’ baby cries in someone else’s arms. Dee stands, wracked with rage, and she’s surprised the baby held out for so long. The Waitress looks like she’s about to cry herself but instead of running away crying, she goes to open her mouth again. Before she can spout anymore false shit, Dee grabs the remainder of the cake on Artemis’ plate and pegs it on the Waitress.

The reception erupts in a mixture of horrified gasps and laughter. With the noise surfing up her back, Dee marches out of the funeral hall and stomps down the stone stairs, makes it as far as the graveyard before the world starts to tip and blur. She collapses behind one gravestone not large enough to hide the shape of her but solid enough to lean on. She squats there, rakes her hand through her hair and feels the numb streaking all the way through. Cries in bursts. Terrible gasping, coughing our phlegm and catching pockets of air, her face wet with eyeliner and tiny flecks of cake.

She glares at the ground. Grey through her tears. Hopes that the cement will break up and she’ll fall through the earth, get swallowed up in Hell so she can join her brother there. At least that way she won’t feel so torn apart. Her other half, her twin, ripped forcefully and tersely, leaving shreds  between them that even scissors can’t make neat.

At some point the shade comes over her, cool and soothing, and soft hands envelop hers. She wakes in the late evening to the sound of the garbage truck clanking down a noisily bright street. Moonless day, sunny night. A dreamcatcher sways in the open window, collects artificial sunlight and weaves her dreams of feeling less alone. She draws her frayed eyes to the blankets around her. Little beads and tiny reflective mirrors sewn into the silk. An angled reflection shows the truth of her night, the large warmth of a woman beside her with white dusting her nose. But even bedded in softness, the tide of her orgasm not yet receding, she’s not sure when she’ll be able to accept the hard fact that the chewed up lump of flesh she buried six feet under was her twin brother. It just doesn’t feel right. Pretty shitty scheme of Dennis’ to pretend he’s dead just to get out of parenthood. And yet, she’s half inclined to hang onto that idea than accept the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yay or nay for dee/artemis??


	35. The Bermuda Triangle goes jingle and jangle; at dawn, to noon, to dusk; all along the Mandibular Canal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning for: graphic depictions of violence/gore
> 
> chapter title is a modification of Alt-J's song Adeline and a reference to the original context of that line.
> 
> beta read by the ever wonderful and patient lornemalvoofficial!

Dennis stands in front of the bathroom mirror, feels a draft coming in which rustles goosebumps over his skin. He rubs his hand over his chin. Blood and muscles and bones shatter across his chin like the impact of a plane smashing into the earth. Hundreds of bodies torn to pieces, to smithereens, exploding and splattering into juices, into a mess he can consume as precisely as a vacuum. The taste of those homeless people in their worthless tents. He folds his hand over and rubs his knuckles over his dry, mangy goatee. He’d wafted home with a crisp reflection in the puddles on the ground. Now, his reflection glimmers, flickers like a glitching outline on an out of tune channel.

He so desperately wants to shave off the goatee. He could wait for Mac to help him, or he could see if he turns up on video. He wanders into the lounge, fetches the laptop left on the coffee table and flips the lid open. He can’t remember how to get the webcam to work, spends some time figuring out how to search things with the new taskbar before he can even start researching webcams on the internet.

He’s never been too good with computers -- Mac has always helped him out in that respect. He’s probably the one who dismantled the camera setup in the first place. Eventually he gets the small white light to turn on; a window opens up revealing an image of the couch he’s sitting on. He slams the lid shut and throws the laptop on the seat beside him. He stands up in a huff, and in his rage, he kicks his bare foot against the leg of the coffee table. He sinks back on the couch, nursing his throbbing toe across his knee. A spot of blood pearls around the big toenail.

“Is that you…” Mac asks tentatively from behind the closed door, “Den-?”

The sound of his nickname makes his heart twist. He sits still for a long time and Mac doesn’t speak bar repeating cracked words. The fidgeting noise behind the closet goes silent.

Minutes go by.

Anyone else wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else is present in the apartment, but with his new keen sense of smell, Dennis can tell that Mac is still curled up in there. Luckily the smell doesn’t bother him so much. He made sure to… to cover that, so as not to cause any problems should he release Mac and the ‘turning’ doesn’t work.

And what if it _doesn’t_? If the whole locking Mac in an enclosed space for hours doesn’t work… well, he can’t risk getting Mac killed in case there really is some step he’s missing. Something might have happened in between Dennis exiting the pantry and waking up strapped to the exercise bike. His online research wasn’t exactly helpful either. If anything, it made him more confused. There’s hundreds and hundreds of accounts on vampires. Fictional, mythical, alleged  non-fictional. There’s so many different ideas of what vampires do, how they live, how they can die, and how they can ‘turn’ others. The accounts vary far too much and all he needs is for Mac to be in on the game too. That way Dennis can make Mac test out the parameters of this illness. He’s going to have to know his strengths and weaknesses if he’s going to go up against the asshole that did this to him.

He has high hopes that this process can work though. It would mean he’s not the only one suffering in confusion. Of course, he’s not at all sure that it’s going to work. He _is_ sure about a few things. He’s sure that he can drink human blood and not only cure his hunger for days, but heal his wounds. And that if he has more blood than he needs, he not only sees a faint shimmer of himself in mirrors; he also gets high. Direct sunlight burns him, less so when he’s had a lot to drink. Silver crosses burn him too, as he found out no thanks to Mac’s necklace. He can get hurt, and bleed, and yet doesn’t want to taste his own blood.

The key is that he can _get hurt_ , which conjures more and more questions. Like, if he was to cut off a finger, would it grow back, or would he be able to rejoin the severed limb? If his head was cut off, would the same process repair him? If drinking lots of blood makes him slightly impervious to sunlight, does that mean he can stay awhile under the warmth of the sun if he drinks enough? And is he really immortal? If at least some of those questions are answered, he will be one step closer to having some kind of strategy against the man who did this to him. Frank Peterson has to die not just for making him a monster, but also for abandoning him in dumb darkness.

Dennis stares at the closet door. Holds his breath, even and soundless. There’s only a couple of hours left to wait through. It’s nightfall now. He contemplates prowling the streets of Philadelphia in search for a thrill but he’s dying to know if the process has worked or not. So he forces himself to wait through boredom. At least his eyes are open this time, and he can control his limbs.

He hears Mac’s stomach rumble a few feet away and, tentatively, Dennis gets off the couch and approaches the closet. He knocks with the back of his knuckle. “Hey, uh, do you want me to order you some pizza?” Mac shuffles in the closet, the items within rattling and banging together, and Dennis continues, “I can slide the slices under the door for you.”

“Dude, just let me out,” Mac complains.

“If you slide out your wallet, I can grab you something from the corner shop.”

“You’ll just use my money to run off.”

“Mac, if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t need your money. I made it up to Bemidji with no money and no car; I can do it again.”

Mac huffs, and Dennis bets that he’s jutting his chin out the way he does when he knows Dennis is right.

“Please, Dennis,” Mac whines when his stomach rumbles again.

Nostrils flare. “Shut up or I’ll open this door and it won’t be to let you out, it’ll be to kill you.”

Dennis imagines Mac’s chin jutting out even further. His threat seems successful though; Mac doesn’t say anything more for a long time. The minute his feet start to ache, Dennis turns his back to the door and sinks down to the ground. He grits his teeth when he remembers what Mac said to him before.

_Are you trying to turn me into a vampire so that we can be lovers for eternity?_

He breathes heavy, carves grooves into the floorboards with his glare. He can hear Mac pressed against the other side of the door. The warmth of his frame decorates Dennis’ senses, blood red like hot spider webs on a radiation sensor.

“I kept wanting to check up on you…”

“Why didn’t you?” Mac questions vindictively.

Dennis folds his hands in his lap. “I had to punish you for what you did.”

Mac growls, “And what exactly did _I_ do to _you_ , Dennis?”

“You blew up my car!”

“Okay, yeah but--”

“And you didn’t come after me,” Dennis adds.

“I tried! I didn’t know where you went! Dee said that even Mandy didn’t know where you were. We didn’t know if you were still in America!” Mac cries.

Dennis pauses, listens to Mac’s beating heart past the wooden strip between them. “So why didn’t you put out a missing persons on me?”

Mac pauses, “…Well, about blowing up your car… there was this whole thing about causing damage to public property and basically the police thought they got you and were already in jail.”

Dennis thinks for a moment. “Right, so that’s why you were with that creepy lookalike guy—”

Mac bangs the door. “What?! How do you know about that?”

Dennis winces. His instincts tell him to lie and say Dee or Charlie or someone told him, but of course that wouldn’t make sense. “I uh… I came back about a month or so after I moved up there...”

“YOU DID?!”

“It wasn’t working so well at the start… I was going to surprise you all with my return, but when I came into the bar… everything had changed. And you were with… _him_ ,” Dennis spits, but then redirects, “You made him the fall guy, right?”

Mac pauses again. His heart pounding. “Yeah.”

“It’s a good idea,” Dennis says, his own voice sounding hollow to him, “Gets them off your tail too.”

“Yeah, it was totally my idea. Cricket stole it from me.”

“Cricket?” Dennis smirks, “Now that’s someone who I should… Wait, why were you even talking to him? Don’t tell me he’s part of the gang now.”

Mac scoffs. “No way dude, a lot of things have changed while you have been gone but nothing like that. No one can replace you.”

Dennis’ heart thumps. “Stop saying shit like that dude or I won’t let you out.”

“Sorry,” Mac apologises and it sounds so genuine and so heart wrenching that Dennis sinks a little further into the ground, his body light and airy.

He looks up at the door handle. It’s now over the allocated time.

Dennis swallows. “When I let you out, Mac,” he tries to say firmly, “We’re going to take things slow. I had… no idea what was happening to me when I woke up from my, uh… my turning, so you should be thankful you have me here.”

“I am.”

“Just don’t come at me or anything,” Dennis clarifies.

Mac agrees to comply, so Dennis lifts himself to his feet. One hand on the door handle, he unlocks it and steps back a fair bit. He waits. Mac doesn’t come out.

“You can come out now,” Dennis prompts.

Slowly, Mac unfolds himself, the door handle turns, and Mac topples out of the tiny cramped space. He moans and immediately stretches out his limbs.

Dennis grips the edge of the armchair in the living room and watches Mac. “Feel any different?”

Mac works out his tense muscles and rolls his head on his neck and makes all these noises that Dennis shouldn’t think sound sexy, but they kind of do.

“Do you… do you smell me? Do you smell my blood?”

Mac sits up and squints at Dennis. “All I can smell is my own B.O.”

Dennis bites his lip. He can definitely smell Mac’s blood, but maybe that’s because he’s more experienced and can distinguish the difference between the other scents around him. Plus, he has no idea if vampires can smell each other’s blood. The sources he found were pretty unclear about that. There are a few other things he can test.

He grabs Mac by the arm and pulls him toward the bathroom. Mac stumbles along, his feet heavy with sleep and troubled circulation, but the moment they both enter the bathroom Dennis already has his answer. Mac looks back at himself in the mirror, his eyes drawn to the empty space where Dennis’ hand should be wrapped around Mac’s bicep. A silver cross shines on top of his T-Shirt. The reflection of the silver flashes into Dennis’ eyes and reflects into his stomach, hot like the sun.

“God damn it!” Dennis yells, marching into the living room, “God freaking damn it!!”

He sinks onto the couch and rakes his hands through his hair. Mac joins him and tries to hug him, but Dennis feels the warmth and pushes him off viciously. He recoils into the corner of the couch and in his fit of rage, his fangs pop out. Undeterred, Mac edges into Dennis’ personal space again, thigh to thigh, the fiery moon to his orbit. Relentless. Eyes warm and pleading, and shit, hadn’t Mac promised he wouldn’t come at him?

Dennis bares his teeth and growls, “I could kill you right now.”

Mac catches Dennis’ eyes with his, blue looped by black opals which sparkle with rainbows in both natural and artificial light, the mark of treasure, of unshattered purity.

Dennis looks away. He runs his tongue beneath his teeth and forces his fangs to retreat. Mac reaches for his hand, takes it down into his lap and holds it there. Dennis lets Mac caress his palm and locks fingers together so rough, so tight that his knuckles grind against old bones. He lets Mac do it because he needs to feel something real. Needs to feel grounded in a world he doesn’t understand.

Moments go by, bound together in painful grips and gripes, until Dennis smells the freshness of life.

<>

Mac’s heart pounds in his throat. His knuckles inflamed. It’s taken years, decades, for Dennis to willingly touch him in this way. For him to reach out to Mac, take his hand of his own volition. He supposes he shouldn’t be so excited considering his best friend has just a) arisen from the dead and b) locked him in a closet for more than half a day. Mac supposes he can look over it because he’s feeling good again. Not despair, not desperate longing – well, maybe only a _little_ less of that – and it’s all because of Dennis. Because he’s _back_ . And he’s being somewhat _open_ and _letting Mac hold his freaking hand_.

Mac doesn’t want to ruin this moment. Doesn’t want to be too pre-emptive like he’d been before. Tries to hold himself together and show Dennis how gentle he can be, how he can love Dennis, softly and tenderly, how he can give Dennis everything that he needs and everything Dennis doesn’t know he wants. He rubs his thumb over the top of his friend’s hand and doesn’t squirm when Dennis is persistent in squeezing him too tight.

Although all good things come to an end. Or he maybe he’s gotten on Dennis’ nerves, because his best friend wrangles his hand free all of a sudden and looks at the front door wildly.

“What, what is it?”

“Someone’s coming,” Dennis says.

Mac catches his breath. “It’s probably a neighbour.”

Dennis’ face goes whiter than bleach. “It’s not. I think it’s… it’s someone I know. They’re with that baby…”

“Huh? How do you know?”

Dennis turns to him, glowering. “I just know.”

Mac jumps off the couch. “Shit dude! The gang is coming to lynch me since I missed out on your funeral! They’re going to see you!” Mac’s eyes go wide and he grins, “Oh man, they’re totally going to freak when they see you’re alive!”

“NO!” Dennis bellows. The force of it pushes Mac to the floorboards. Dennis glides off the couch and jabs his finger in the air, pointing at Mac’s chest. “I _forbid_ you to tell _anyone_ that I’m alive. Do you understand me, Mac?”

Mac nods, his throat suddenly dry.

The sound of keys pushing through a lock. Mac turns to look and behind him, Dennis flees to Mac’s old bedroom, the door of which slams shut the moment the front door opens.

Charlie jumps in fright when he sees Mac sprawled out on the floor.

“JESUS CHRIST DUDE!” He screeches, gripping his baby to his chest. He seems to quickly recover and manoeuvres around Mac toward the kitchen. “Have you been on the floor this entire time? I swear to God I didn’t see you there before.”

Mac clambers to his feet to put himself between the kitchen and his old bedroom door. Charlie holds his kid in a body strap with one hand, using his other to rifle through Mac’s kitchen cupboards.

“So you’re just going to steal my food, huh?” Mac says.

“So you’re just going to not show up to your best friend’s funeral, huh?” Charlie replies.

Charlie makes an ‘ah-ha’ noise and snatches out a can of baby food Mac hadn’t yet devoured. He finds a relatively clean bowl and slaps the food in the microwave. While the counter goes down, he turns around, hands on his hips, and looks at Mac. It’s not exactly a glare, and Mac becomes increasingly worried that Charlie might try to go into his old bedroom. He’d shoved a bunch of The Waitress’ shit in there, including some boxes of baby clothes and toys that she’d left littered around his apartment.

“Dude, it smells like piss in here,” Charlie comments, frowning and sniffing his kid.

He jumps when the microwave dings and turns around to stir the food, the baby’s tiny feet kicking at his waist. Then he takes the bowl over to the couch and sits down with a massive sigh. “Put a movie on, will you?”

Mac glances at his old bedroom door, sweat on the back of his neck.

“I don’t have any kid’s movies. There’s uh, probably something on at the cinema. Come on, I’ll pay.”

Charlie grimaces at him. “Are you kidding me? The volume in there’s going to explode this little dude’s eardrums. Besides, I’m already sat down. Just put anything on bro, _anything_.”

Mac bites his lip. He feels sick, wants to tell Charlie everything, but he isn’t sure how to say it. His body shakes when he moves over to the DVD player and slides in _Lethal Weapon_.

Charlie looks at Mac and nods at the empty seat beside him as the movie starts to play.

“Dee’s weird, man,” he says as he spoon feeds his baby, “She won’t talk. I mean, there are some days I can’t talk,” he gestures to his throat, “But the bitch _can_ talk… she’s just not saying words to me on purpose or some shit. I thought the funeral went great… there was food… lots of people there… oh man, there was this whole plate dedicated to cheese. I’ve never seen anything like it. They had like, five types of cheese on the one plate. _Five_.”

The baby throws a small tantrum and kicks the bowl off Charlie’s lap. Charlie doesn’t bat an eye, scoops up the warm food with his fingers and slaps it back in the bowl, then digs the teaspoon back in for feeding. Mac darts into the kitchen so he can grab something to clean the mess up and, it’s pretty faint, but he thinks he recognises Dennis’ annoyed grumbling beyond his old bedroom door. Mac comes back with some paper towel and dabs at the dollops of baby food all over the floor while Charlie continues.

“What was I saying? Oh yeah, Dee. It’s messed up man,” Charlie says, “I don’t know if she’s more mad at me, or you, or Dennis. I can’t be at the bar when she’s like this. Whatever’s up her butt is like, way, way up there... oh hey, The Waitress wanted me to pass this on to you.” Charlie leans back and lifts his hips to dig out a piece of paper wedged into his jeans pocket. “I was all, ‘ _Why don’t you do it yourself you lazy bitch_ ?’ and she was all, ‘ _I’ve got post art numbession_ ’ or whatever so I’ve gotta be messenger boy and make a day out of it.”

Mac takes the crinkled paper and spreads it out over the coffee table. It’s a stick figure drawing of a kid holding the hand of a super ripped guy, signed by Brian Jr. Suddenly he remembers the phone call he’d had earlier with Mandy, and... how can he keep Dennis’ existence a secret from these people? From his friends, from his family, from his _son_. Mac’s fingers shake over the crumpled paper and he bites back tears as hard as he can.

“Charlie, I need to tell you something…”

“Yeah, me too man, I’m thinking of quitting Paddy’s and becoming a funeral man. I miss all that free time we used to have! I’m sitting there cooped up in that office with all these numbers and letters and shapes coming at me and I can’t _do_ that shit, Mac. I miss Charlie Work. I miss rat bashing. We got someone else doing that shit now and _apparently_ they do a better job than I ever did according to Dee. That whore.”

Mac cries, “Charlie, I’m serious, this is important--”

“And this isn’t important? Just because I’m telling you that I’m about to quit being your boss, you still better be careful with what you say here. I still have the power to make your life hell. Anyway, don’t you think a funeral gig would be pretty sweet? I’d get to primp up rotting corpses and dig holes and shit. And I can eat all the free buffet food…”

The baby finishes the food and Charlie lets the bowl clatter over the coffee table. Mac snatches the paper before any food remnants can drop on the drawing, though it’s already a little damp.

“But Dee, man. I don’t know how to deal with Dee when she’s like that. Thank God you’re out of the hospital because I swear to God I’m going NUTS here. The Waitress is driving me up the wall, Frank is hell bent on getting his lawyers to sue the shit out of the hospital and has no time for ‘silly games’. He stresses me the shit out, dude! Work is stressful enough, and hey, when are you coming back, huh? I need you man.”

Mac sits back on his heels, trembling lip caught between his teeth, and he says, “I don’t know, Charlie…”

Charlie glares at him. “If you don’t come back to work in the next few days I _am_ going to fire you. Don’t you think that just because we’re friends, that I don’t have the will and the power to do that. And if you don’t, you better have a real good reason why not--”

“Well actually--”

“-Because I just can’t take doing this shit anymore--”

“There’s--”

“-I gotta get help or – what, are you okay? Are you choking dude?!”

“It’s-” Mac tries to start again but he can’t finish. Brain signals try and connect vocal cords to words and his muscles spasm against it. The words lodge in his throat; it’s as if his own tongue is choking him out. He can’t seem to hold back the waterworks any longer, and he shudders as waves of sadness roll out of him.

“God, not you too,” Charlie says, but he helps Mac sit back beside him anyway.

Mac presses the heels of his palms against his closed eyes, and he tries to convince Charlie that he’s not crying at all, tries to make him promise to tell no one, but he can’t talk anymore. Bubbles of spit come out of his mouth and snot rolls across his upper lip and he pulls Charlie in for a hug. He just needs it, despite the child’s bouncing legs between them, he needs his oldest friend to tell him everything’s going to be okay, even though it kind of already is.

Suddenly there’s movement in Mac’s old bedroom. A flash of a figure out on the balcony followed by footsteps dashing over the fire escape.

“Oh shit, did you have company?” Charlie asks, shoving Mac away from him. “Dude, don’t tell me you didn’t come to the funeral because you were banging someone… That’s just…”

“Yeah,” he says, in his panic, then repeats more firmly, “Yeah. Don’t you know that... on the day you bury someone, God gives a chance for their soul to enter a new body so long as they, you know, are in the act of procreation.”

Charlie sets the baby food on the coffee table, bouncing his baby in his lap. “So you were having sex with a girl so that... Dennis gets born again... as a baby?”

“Nah dude,” Mac replies, his tears coming a little slower now, along with his speech, “It’s not about like, impregnation, you _sicko_ . It’s about his soul _transferring_ from the dead to a new body.”

“But what happens to the soul of the other dude?”

“What other dude?” Mac asks, looking out the window.

“The dude you’re replacing with Dennis’ soul.”

“Oh yeah.” Mac thinks for a moment, his eye flickering around where he’d seen Dennis’ silhouette. “Um… I guess it gets suppressed real deep... kind of like a multiple personality type deal.”

Charlie nods. “So you skipped out on today to do this voodoo black magic deal with some twink?”

Mac lowers his head and chews his lip. “So much is wrong about that sentence, Charlie. But in a nutshell? Yes.”

“Seems legit.” Charlie nods again, helps his kid burp. “Did it work? Did Dennis come back?”

He wants to say yes. He wants to tell Charlie that Dennis had come back and come back a vampire and he’s real and he’d held Dennis’ hand in his and he might have also kissed him and it was probably the best kiss Dennis had ever received. But he can’t say any of it, can’t conjure it out of himself. So he says the opposite.

“No.”

“Oh man,” Charlie picks up his kid’s wrist and gently taps Mac’s bicep with the small hand, “That sucks, dude.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna finish this movie?”

Mac nods but he looks out into the night sky, wondering how many times he’s going to have to wonder if his best friend is alive or dead or running or going, before it actually destroys him.

 


	36. Terms and Conditions Apply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by lornemalvoofficial <3

Mac sits beside Charlie at an appropriate bro-width space while they watch the movie, but he’s unable to fully appreciate the stunt choreography because his mind is still heavy with thoughts of Dennis. He can feel his inability to speak about Dennis in his aching muscles, which are no less tense when Charlie finally answers his phone after ignoring five calls in a row.

The Waitress doesn’t seem to care that they only have fifteen minutes left of the movie when she insists, very loudly, that Charlie come to her apartment straight away. Mac almost asks Charlie to screw her and stick around, at least until the end of the film, but he doesn’t want to look needy when Charlie has a literal baby to look after.

Before Charlie leaves, Mac catches Charlie’s arm; a brief look of bewilderment washes over Charlie’s face.

“Hey man, I wanted to say thanks for donating your blood to me,” Mac tells him.

Charlie shrugs out of Mac’s hold and blows a raspberry. “It’s cool bro, no problem. Besides, it was the bomb being off the floor for a bit, you know? I love The Waitress but man-”

“She’s crazy?” Mac offers.

Charlie grins. “Yeah, bro.” He makes it one step through the door before pausing. “But dude, just ‘cause I saved your life and all, doesn’t mean you get to have another whole month off work. I’m serious, if you don’t show up this week, I’ll fire you.”

Mac nods gravely and watches Charlie shuffle down the hallway.

The baby starts crying and Charlie screeches, “Or I’ll burn the place down! Who knows?!”

Mac closes the door, turns around, and almost jumps right out of his skin when he sees Dennis sitting on the couch where Charlie had just been.

“Jesus Christ, dude, why did you let him stay so long?!” Dennis complains. “I’m killing time here!”

“Killing time? What’s the rush? I just got you back…” Mac replies, “How did you… how did you get in; I thought I heard you leave...”

 

Dennis frowns. He gets Mac’s laptop and returns to the couch as he speaks, “I’ve been thinking very hard about our next move, and I think our best bet is to hunt down Frank Peterson, or Lorne Malvo – or whatever his name is – ourselves.”

Mac has the urge to sit down next to Dennis, but his legs feel stiff.  A coloured glow from the television screen dances over the room. “Who? What? _Hunt?_ ”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “I need answers, Mac. I’m certain he must have turned me into this mons-” Dennis holds his tongue, changes direction, “He must have turned me. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

Mac wouldn’t say that he’d be willing to kill a person, and normally he’d be all for beating up any douchebag who had the heart to hurt Dennis, but not this guy… he actually got Dennis _killed_. And just because Dennis is kind of here now, doesn’t mean that Mac couldn’t be in danger too.

Mac wrings his wrists. “Well, what are you going to do when you find him?”

“Demand _answers_ ,” Dennis sighs dramatically, “Aren’t you listening? Sit down, already.”

Mac obliges, his body stiff and rusty as he moves to take a seat next to Dennis. He keeps his distance relative, a thin space between their knees. On the computer screen, Dennis is flipping through various news articles, the location headings in heavy bold at the top of the pages. An article about a local fitness instructor being shot in Duluth, a shooting in Fargo, a missing persons in Philadelphia.

“Shortly after I was… after I saw him last,” Dennis explains, tilting the laptop so Mac can see the news articles better, “There was a massacre at an a office in Fargo-”

“I remember that! That’s why the flights were grounded just after--”

“You were there?!”

“I didn’t see it in action! I was just in the city at the time… The Bemidji police department couldn’t fly your body to Philadelphia because they didn’t have the ‘correct transportation equipment’. Fargo still messed that up though…” Mac pauses, “Or did they? You’re here now… who did they bury?”

“Oh, I looked that up too,” Dennis says, his face stern, “After I woke up, the hospital must have wanted to cover up the fact that they had just lost a dead body and provided the remains of someone else.”

Mac’s face goes white. “Ew, who do you think it was?”

Dennis shrugs, refusing to look at Mac. “I don’t know. The coroner has gone missing too. Probably fled, worrying about getting fired.” Dennis pulls up the Fargo massacre article and taps an image on the screen. “This is the guy. It’s a grainy picture, but I’m certain that’s him. He told me his name was Frank Peterson, but according to this article, he is a wanted hit-man called Lorne Malvo.”

“That article was from two months ago, who knows if he’s still there…” Mac points out.

“I know, the only lead I have is this picture. We need to go to Fargo and see what we can find out from these FBI agents, Pepper and Budge.”

“The _FBI_ ,” Mac repeats incredulously.

“Yes, Mac. It’s a scheme, see. We’re going to pretend to be cops and make them tell us what they know.” Dennis grins. “It’s going to be fun!”

Mac blinks. “Uh… okay, but how? We don’t have those cop uniforms anymore.”

Dennis waves a hand in the air. “I have a plan, don’t worry about that. Come on, pass me your laptop so i can call a taxi to the airport.”

Dennis looks at Mac expectantly. He replies, “What, you want to go right now?”

“Yes, of _course_ right now. Do you have something better to do?”

Mac wrings his wrists again. “Well, no, but –”

“Good, pass over your--”

“--But Charlie said he would fire me if I don’t come into work,” Mac says.

“Charlie isn’t allowed to do that, he has as much share in the pub as you do--”

“Yeah, but I kind of like my job now,” Mac pouts, thinking of all the cute guys who flirt with him before entering Paddy’s. “People respect me.”

Dennis purses his lips. “Remember Charlie said, ‘in the next few days’?”

“Did he? How do you know?”

“I know how to _listen_ when people talk, Mac. So he said, the ‘ _next few days’_. We can do this thing quickly, it won’t take long, I promise.” Mac doesn’t seem convinced, so Dennis adds, “I need you to protect me, Mac.”

“Okay but--”

“Great,” Dennis interrupts him. “We’ve already wasted enough time. I’m going to need your credit card so I can book us a private jet.”

“A PRIVATE JET?!” Mac snaps, “I don’t have that kind of money!”

“Sure you do, you must be making a killing from all those gays--”

“Dennis,” Mac berates.

“What?” Dennis tries to bump shoulders, but Mac doesn’t give in to the playful gesture. “Alright, so we don’t fly. We drive.”

“Uh, yeah, except that I blew up your car…”

Dennis groans. “You don’t have a car of your own now?”

“I don’t like driving,” Mac pouts, “I like it when other people drive for me.”

“Right, so how have you been getting to work? Don’t tell me you walk,” Dennis scowls.

Mac bites his lip. “No, I get a lift with-”

“Dee!” Dennis finishes, “That god damn bitch. Go and get her car while I pack our bags.”

 

 

“DEE! DEE!” Mac shouts as he bursts into Paddy’s.

It’s 11pm on a Wednesday. Karaoke night. Dee has customers collecting in her path like her thinning hair. She does not have time for Mac’s antics, nor does she want to give him due time given his recent behaviour. She ignores his persistent shouting and continues working her ass off because no one else can be bothered to do their damn jobs on nights Paddy’s shouldn’t even be open. At least Artemis has been kind enough to help bus the tables while they’re so short staffed. Not that she’s very good at it, but Dee appreciates the help... and appreciates the scissoring that made her late for work.

“DEEEEE!” Mac bellows across the room as he wades through the throes of people.

“That’s $14, thanks,” Dee tells the customer.

She takes the payment to the cash register, and when she turns around with change, she almost slams her face into Mac. She’s first  relieved, knowing that Mac is safe and sound, but then she wishes she’d head-butted Mac so he wouldn’t think it’s a good idea to pester her on a night like this.

“Dee, are you deaf or something? I’m trying to talk to you!”

Dee blanks him completely and turns to her customer. She starts to mix their drink, tossing the shaker pointedly in Mac’s way, before finishing off the beverage. While she’s taking the next payment over to the cash register, Mac grabs onto her arm.

“What’s up with you?!”

Dee slams the register drawer shut and snarls at him. “I JUST PUT MY TWIN BROTHER IN THE GROUND!!”

“Oh shit, yeah,” Mac scratches his head. “So anyway, I need to borrow your car.”

Dee slams the customer’s change down on the counter. “No.”

“Why not?!” When Dee doesn’t reply, he quickly grabs the shaker before she can start mixing the drink. “I’m going to go up to North Dakota.”

Dee slams a fist on the bar. “Oh what, so you’ll go up to see Brian Jr. but you won’t go to your best friend’s funeral? Jesus Christ, Mac!”

She can’t look at him. With her shoulders tense and her jaw clenched, her eyes cut into the crowd searching for someone to soften her.

“Brian’s in Minnesota so--”

“So _what_ , Mac? You can’t do whatever the hell you want!”

Mac winces. “Look, I just need to borrow your car for a while.”

Dee shakes her head. She opens up the fridge and grabs a spare shaker, making the order in that instead. “And how long is a _while_? For all I know you’re going to use my car to drive yourself into a brick wall. Suicide is still a sin, Mac.”

“I’m not suicidal! Just let me borrow your car!”

Dee pours the drink. The bubbles fizz up to the rim of the cup then simmer down; not a drop spills over. Beyond the liquid amber, a parting of people reveals Artemis piling finished drinks onto her tray. Her polyester blouse lifts up her back and bunches around her sweaty neck.

“Yeah, okay.”

Mac claps his hands together. “Okay?!”

She turns to him. “But we’re going to Bemidji, not wherever the hell you want to take a vacation to.”

“Oh no, no, that doesn’t work at all. And you definitely can’t come.”

“Then no, Mac, you can’t borrow my car.”

“Aw, come on Dee! You have to look after Paddy’s!”

“Jesus,” Dee breathes in deeply before shouting, “I SHOULD BE THE ONE TAKING TIME OFF TO GET MY _BROTHER’S_ STUFF THAT’S STILL STUCK UP IN THAT SHIT HOLE TOWN! But no, I have to _work_ because Frank has shows booked out SEVEN MONTHS IN ADVANCE and I don’t know what the shit Charlie is doing AND THEN _YOU_ -”

The wind is knocked out of her, curveball, home run. Her last word extending as far as the sun. She feels the icy floor beneath her, the stacked glasses rattling like loose chandeliers, customers complaining and cheering and trying to climb over the bar to serve themselves. And a split second later, Mac is on her, hands jabbing at her jeans pockets, finding nothing. A knee slams into her thigh and forces her to turn on her side.

“GET OFF ME, DIPSHIT!!”

Mac yanks her car keys out of her back pocket and leaps off her, darting out of the bar as quickly as he can. Dee screeches and tries to stand up too, but her thigh tingles, numb.

“ASSHOLE!”

She grips onto the edge of the bar and onto random customers as she tries to pull herself toward the front door. One customer yelps when she grabs onto their hair. She falls palms first into the backwash of alcohol and dirt bespeckled with glitter. Her palms and knees spike with pain and she heaves with anger. She hears Artemis’ voice and sits up only to push her away. Fire engulfs her, fuelled by the alcohol that she sweats from her skin.

“NOBODY TOUCH ME!” She screeches as she stands up.

Her jeans are too tight and her bra digs into her underarms. Still, people try to reach out to her. Strangers, regulars, a concerned lover. She doesn’t want their help; she makes that clear, seething hot hate from her mouth. Mac can have her car. She’ll report it stolen and he can go to jail and see how he likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more chapters and part 1 of this fic is going to come to an end! Bear with me while i get us to the bridging point...


	37. So heart to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 37 chapters in, finally getting some macdennis smut....

Stars shoot up the windshield. Those that do not pass burst through the glass and blind him. The hot stars drop into his lap, singe his pants and twirl through the turmoil in his stomach, before sinking through the churning mess and pushing through the passenger seat. The stars plummet under the coughs of Dee’s shitty car, and Mac imagines them clattering across the bitumen, sparks flying, competing against the painful fireworks bursting within him.

He tries to curl up in the passenger seat and sleep, but he hasn’t felt this sick since he found out that Dennis got a photo with Chase Utley, or when he discovered his Dad had been writing letters and Dennis had ripped up every single one of them. That, and his legs won’t stop shaking even when he tries to hold them still. He goes on like this for hours, his eyelids feeling so heavy that they could stamp his eyeballs into flat discs. Or, they would if he doesn’t keep snapping them open with flighty worry that he’ll look up and see a stranger in the driver’s seat, instead of his best friend back from the dead.

The car stops moving and Mac blinks through the white light blasting from the overhead lights at the gas station. He doesn’t even realize Dennis has left the car until he hears the door slam shut. The engine quiet, Mac rests his forehead on the dashboard, still humming slightly. Black plastic forms a shield against his vision, an inverted pair of sunglasses that fall away when Dennis raps his knuckles against the window. Mac gasps like he’s taken the first breath of air after a long fight to the sea’s surface.

He opens the door with a shaky hand.

“I need you to escort me,” Dennis says as he hangs over the door. “The automatic doors won’t open for me.”

Mac blinks at him.

A blink later and he’s inside the shop at the gas station, a range of colourful snacks glistening under too bright lights. He grabs their favourite snacks, picks up a handful of energy drinks and pays for everything plus the gas. The green lights on the EFTPOS machine flash and Mac sees the stars cycloning quickly around him again. A squashed energy drink sways around the top of the dashboard until Dennis grabs it and pegs it at the backseat.

Mac crunches his way through two whole bags of chips because Dennis won’t have any even when he offers. He can’t remember if he’s asked whether or not Dennis still eats and sleeps; he’s probably asked it a few times but the only reaction he can retain is Dennis’ disdainful groan.

An indecipherable amount of time passes. The sky still dark. The shape of the car morphs into a cold waiting room. Purple chairs line the walls, seated with unopened magazines. A frumpy looking woman perches over a reception desk. Hours tick by. No one comes in; no one comes out. He doesn’t get called up and yet he keeps waiting and waiting and waiting.

Dennis nudges him awake and says, “You have to drive now.”

“I’m trying to sleep…” Mac mumbles.

“Wake up!”

Mac blinks, bleary-eyed, unsure about what day it is, or where he is, or why he’s in Dee’s stinky car on a highway heading northwest.

“We have to keep going,” Dennis presses. “You don’t want to get fired, do you?”

The car shuts off. The stars shrouded with clouds freeze and melt simultaneously, forming a sky the colour of off, curdled milk.

Mac wrenches his eyes closed again, only to be slapped in the face. He groans, “I need sleep...” 

Dennis unbuckles his seatbelt and huffs, “All that time in the cupboard and you didn’t sleep?”

Mac rubs his face. “That was days ago.”

“It was yesterday,” Dennis says flatly, suddenly on Mac’s other side, the passenger door open. Mac looks at him, then glances at the clock and the horizon. The sunrise is almost here. “Mac, listen to me. I need you to drive now.”

Mac nods like a brainless zombie and unbuckles himself. His feet crunch on the gravel outside, and as he opens the driver’s side door, he hears the sound of the trunk pulling shut. He sits in the driver’s seat, all the other seats empty. Then he turns the ignition.

The sun starts to show on the horizon, pouring orange lava into his eyes. Despite his urge to please Dennis, he can’t go on. Feet heavy on the pedals, hands slipping on the wheel, he slumps forward, black plastic wrapping around his eyes once again as he shuts down.

 

 

He dreams of nothing. Wakes up seemingly moments later with the sun high and a black cloud rising from the front of the car. Slowly he comes to realize the jolting of the car is sourced from Dennis having locked himself in the trunk.

“I KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE YOU ASSHOLE!” Dennis’ voice is muffled through the seat padding, “DON’T YOU DARE FALL BACK ASLEEP! I CAN’T GET OUT NOW BUT WHEN IT’S DARK I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL MURDER YOU IF YOU DON’T KEEP DRIVING!”

Mac wipes drool off his mouth. The car is still running, the tank down a quarter already. He pulls back onto the highway. The traffic around him dashes past , their tooting horns helping to jolt himself awake until he gets to the next highway motel. He drives the car into a sunlit parking spot and goes toward the reception area, dragging his feet shin deep through the pavement. He fills in the paperwork, despite having difficulty reading the words on the page; his eyes feel like two dry bricks sagging in his eye sockets. 

He grapples with the key to his room and shuffles outside. In the periphery of his chapped eyes he can see the trunk of the car moving but he doesn’t do a thing about it. He goes straight to the numbered room corresponding with his key, passing out on top of the double bed the second his head hits the bed sheets.

 

 

He wakes feeling exhausted, like he hasn’t been asleep at all. Dreamless on a moonless day. The room is stifling, airless, and it takes a while for Mac’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. After a while he spots a thick strip of duct tape across the gap between the door and the carpet. The curtains covering the windows are taped down too. Even the exhaust vents around the air conditioner are patched up.

Still, it sounds like wind or maybe rain outside. Mac lies on the bed for a while until he realizes that the sound of running water is coming from the bathroom within his room. Shortly after pinpointing the source of the noise, it ceases. No one comes out. Must be dodgy pipes -- he hadn’t exactly picked the motel for its rating after all. He pulls his knees up to his chin so he can untie his boots and yank them off his numb feet, then he positions himself further up the bed and pulls a pillow beneath his head. He wonders if there’s a Bible in the top drawer of the bedside table, and what vitriol it will say about him and the things that other people make him do. 

Suddenly the bathroom door bursts open. Mac sits up to see Dennis clad in a white towel, curly hair dripping around his neck, torso damp and glistening.

Mac clears his throat and tries to keep it light hearted by joking, “Were you in there the whole time? Must have been jerking off in there, huh?”

Dennis remains stoic as he states, “The sun is about to set.”

Mac makes a face. “So?”

Dennis takes one step forward, his hand gripping the towel around his waist secure in a knot on his hip. “You’ve been asleep for a day and a half.”

Mac sits up completely. “What?!”

“When the sun finally set yesterday, I could get out of the trunk and…” Dennis’ nose wrinkles, “I could have come to slit your throat in this filthy motel but lucky for you, there was a group of college girls taking a road trip who… satisfied me.”

Mac stares at Dennis’ eyes, and he gulps.

“You’re lucky I’m still around…” Dennis says warily. “Besides, I think someone must have hacked your account because your credit card pin isn’t what I remember it to be. Thankfully those sluts carried cash on them which I used to buy tape since it didn’t look like you were going to wake up before the sun rose.” Dennis adds, “Also, why doesn’t Dee keep duct tape in her car? Hasn’t she learned anything from me?”

“Dennis…” Mac starts, trying to be a hard badass by holding Dennis’ gaze when he continues, “I mean, I hate women as much as you do, but… did you kill those girls?”

“I don’t hate women, Mac,” Dennis corrects, “Besides, I didn’t  _ kill _ them. They’ll live. Just look at you. You’re alive and well even though I was  _ sure  _ that I sucked out most of your blood.”

Mac lays back down on the bed, propping his hands beneath his head. “The doctor said that if I lost anymore I would have died… lucky Charlie is the same blood type as me and could donate.”

Dennis snaps his fingers. “That’s why you smelled so… dirty.”

Mac’s cheeks flush and he quickly yanks his shirt off to have a whiff of his armpits. “You think I smell?”

Dennis licks his lips. “You do smell…”

“But to be clear,” Mac begins, bunching his shirt into a knot and tossing it on the ground, “Do I smell good or bad?”

Dennis moves to the foot of the bed and gazes down over Mac’s form. “You smell good…”

Mac swallows when he sees the towel around Dennis’ waist starting to tent.

“You smell good enough to satisfy me, baby,” Dennis coos under his breath.

Mac digests Dennis’ words, holding his breath for a moment to see if he won’t wake up from another dream. But what does it matter if he is? He knows how this dream goes. The heat from the stuffy room encircles Mac’s neck and coils down his chest, down to his groin. He shifts on top of the bed, snaking a hand down between his legs, a quick glance at Dennis’ watchful face. The closer Mac’s hand gets to his cock, the narrower Dennis’ eyes become, like keen eyes on prey. He cups his junk and watches as Dennis bites his lip. Damp skin glistening, hair slicked across his shoulders, his abdomen taut with lust and long fingers playing with the fray of the cheap motel towel. 

It’s not the first time they’ve jerked off in front of each other, but it’s been a long time since the last. He’s missed it. He can tell Dennis has too; hunger flickers in his eyes. Mac changes to palming himself, watching in earnest as Dennis’s hard-on becomes more prominent beneath the towel. He’s not as quick to get hard as Dennis is, but it certainly doesn’t take him long. He unzips his trousers and threads his fingers beneath his boxers, holding his breath as he gauges Dennis’ reaction.

Dennis palms himself too, his towel slipping, revealing angled hip bones. Mac tries to sit up and get closer to Dennis, but Dennis’ face lights up with rage.

“Don’t get close to me,” Dennis snarls, before letting his towel slip off entirely.

Mac inhales sharply as he sees Dennis’ naked body standing at the end of the bed. Dennis brings a hand up to his lips and lathers a thick layer of saliva over his fingers before drawing back to his dick, starting to stroke himself slowly. Mac isn’t quite as glamorous and opts for spitting straight in his hand, too incensed by Dennis’ show to think about returning the favour. He starts pumping, tries to match Dennis, wishing he would touch him. His wish is almost granted when Dennis’ free hand drops to the mattress to keep him steady, fingers spreading just inches away from Mac’s feet. But their positions remain fixed. The heat builds between them, running between a hotwire eye to eye, ignition pulling at their cocks until the fuel bursts into and out of action. 

Mac cums first, busting his nut all over his hand, the opening of his trousers, and the hem of his boxers. He sinks into the mattress, heaving, wrist burning, and his eyes still locked with Dennis’. Locked in a black and blue battle, his one man army spent against a champion, a tireless hero cranking it until thick cum ejects out of Dennis’ cock like a hot glue gun, slow and steady, leaky until there’s nothing left to wring out. While Dennis cradles his softening dick, the space around him expands like a 1:1 ratio widening to HD, and Mac notices the state of Dennis’ chewed on lips.

Still a little breathless, Mac sits up to say, “Hey uh, you’re bleeding…”

Dennis wipes his mouth. Blood smears over the top of his hand and he says firmly, “Don’t get up, Mac.”

Mac frowns and makes to push off the bed but Dennis snarls at him, his fangs popping out further.

“DON’T get up!” Dennis spits. He darts over to a pile of his clothes from the day before - or whenever it was - and starts getting changed. “I can’t… control this, I…” He glances at Mac, dick still out, cheeks flushed, lips parted and brow furrowed in confusion. Dennis finishes getting changed, then kneels down by the door to rip off the duct tape. “Meet me at the car after you’ve showered.”

On his last word, Dennis exits the room. Mac does not hear the grunt Dennis makes at being exposed to the sunset; it’s muted by the sound of the door closing behind him. He perches on the edge of the bed, gripping the ribbed fabric binding the mattress into shape. He feels the heat sucking out of him in coils like he’s being yanked up a waterslide rather than riding down. Skin scraping against sun baked plastic, piss diluted water smacking his back and neck, and a hollow sound of wind vacuuming up the tunnel. Twisted prayers disfigure his sinful pleasures before the news of the act falls upon God’s ears. At least things have gone back to normal. Mostly.


	38. Fargo (Side A)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's more Fargo connections coming into play now. For those who haven't seen Fargo, I won't spoil how Mac goes in this scheme and instead I've entered an in-text link which should help explain~ 
> 
> chapter warning for violence (but... i feel like if you've gotten this far, i don't even need to warn you anymore.)

The sun has slipped down the dark basin of the sky, the moon slugging perpendicular to its cycle. The FBI headquarters finds its home in a brutalist building looming in the night. A sharp, unsightly thing raising a flat prism of slivered windows to the starry night sky. An offering of government secrets ground into dust on the rooftop of a concrete fortress.

A handsome man stalks the streets of Fargo, the warmth of the season lifting under his swift feet. He takes refuge around the protected temple of the FBI HQ and cloaks himself in the concave walls which bear into the gravel ground. And waits. Men walk out in suits of twos and threes. Some brave singles. Women in twos, women with men, and few women alone.

From a distance, a lone woman’s heels clack against the pavement, the curves in her body make her looks like a potential eight or nine, but Dennis is sure that up close she’ll be nothing more than a six. Nevertheless, his body shivers as he contemplates how easy it would be to snatch her into the shadows, under the very building she works in, and sink his teeth into her fragile neck. Dulls grey eyes screaming life into his own, her long blonde hair matting in the blood that will gush from her jugular.

The spring warmth combs down the streets. The woman keys into her car and drives away. He reluctantly goes for the next man who walks out alone regardless if he’s fat and has enough cologne on him to make his own shits smell like flowers, simple because Dennis is fully aware that no man will match up to his level ten rating. When Dennis is done with him, the man’s bloodless body sags onto the pavement. He unclips the ID from the man’s belt and pockets it, then walks away from the limp body.

He strolls down the hydrated sidewalk, fresh blood swathing his throat like fine silk. Behind him, blood ebbs out of the agent’s neck. Someone will find him in the morning. The neon shape of the motel sign blinks heavy under the sleepy night. He imagines Mac tucked into bed while he roams this ugly city, and he’ll enter the room, air gusting around his figure in the doorway, lust in his lungs as he towers over yet another unconscious fool.

Presently, the cool moonlight glints off something which catches his eye. He prowls over to it, the strength of the light minimising the closer he gets until it beams in small dull dots along the skeletons of jewellery. Encased in a shopfront window, long silver chains rope around the napes of the necks of pearlescent white mannequins. Circumferences so thin and fragile that they may only support the headless. His fingertips tingle, the blood of the agent slashing flint against his soft skin, and he desires to wrap his hands around the neck of one, of any. Decadent gemstones dangling down cotton sternums, faceless beings looking at him, armless and handless, unable to fight him off as he chokes the lifeless.

But he wants that. He wants the fight, for someone to match him. He imagines the plastic hands decorated in fine rings locking around his neck, thumbs jarring together, forefingers joining to form a restrictive vaginal shape. For those hands to transmute to flesh, form muscles and a web of veins and bones that can bend and break. And constrict him. Bind him to another man’s will. He gets hard at the thought, and sinks his fangs into his lips to bring it to a halt.

Blood fountains out of his pierced lips and dribbles down his chin. Stop thinking about him. Stop wanting him. Need someone else. Need seven and eights to thirst for him and nine and tens to satisfy him. Need his parents to tell him what to do. Need his sister to tell him better. Help him go back to the way he was before, able to get off in ways sans a delusional man. An inseparable limb lounging on top of the bed, eyes sullen with oversleep, hard nipples prominent through a torn t-shirt. A sight he’s seen a million times and always cared, _always_. Cares enough now that his desire is untameable. He’ll let Mac in like the wolf in all tales. Mac will have a running chance, if he’s smart enough to take it.  

 

 

A hundred million cop cars are parked around the FBI building, their siren lights flash off the angles of the concrete and bounce off police tape demarcating an off limits space around the side of the building.

Mac fiddles with the end of his tie and says, “I’m not so sure about this, Dennis.”

“ _You’re_ the one who has put pressure on time here,” Dennis says, “We need to get this done _tonight_.”

“What if we get caught?” Mac wrings his red and blue wrists. “We could go to _prison_.”

Dennis gives him a once over and replies, “You wouldn’t have anything to worry about if you had worn my dress shirt like I told you to.”

“It didn’t fit over my guns,” Mac says through a heavy yawn, “I thought you were going to get me a cop uniform or something.”

Dennis hushes him as a pair of policemen march toward the police taped area, their belted radios crackling with coded intel.

“FBI agents don’t wear uniforms,” Dennis hisses, “They wear designer clothes, not a polo shirt and slacks.”

Mac yawns again. “Whatever. Where’s my ID?”

Dennis’ lips go thin. He doesn’t reply straight away, turning to Mac to fuss with the collar of Mac’s polo overlapping with the tie.

“Dennis,” Mac presses, “How am I going to get in?”

Dennis brushes off invisible dust from Mac’s shoulders and coos, “I just need you to get me through the doors-”

“I got it! I’m your bodyguard!” Mac clenches his fists, flexing his muscles. “Vic Vinegar in action!”

“That’s it, baby,” Dennis says, tugging at the corners of Mac’s collar before heading toward the doors, “Just keep pretending like you know what you’re doing.”

The ground floor of the building is utterly deserted, save for a woman at a computer desk by the security gates. She greets them when they enter the building, her voice carrying over the wide empty space, “O! Hello? What’s going on out there?”

Dennis puts one hand on Mac’s chest to hold him back and tells the lady, “It’s classified.”

“Damn it, Dennis, I wanted to say that!” Mac says, chasing after Dennis as he walks toward the gates, “We should swap so I can say the cool lines.”

Dennis turns to frown at him, and hisses, “Jesus, don’t call me by my name! You’ll blow my cover.”

“Right, sorry,” Mac nods, falling back a step.

Dennis strides toward the gates, and Mac flexes his biceps in order to show off his brute force as he protects Dennis’ back. Dennis swipes his ID card at the security gates and steps through, however, the roller bar mechanism prevents Mac from passing after Dennis.

The woman at the desk stands up and says, “O, dear, I know it’s late but you both need to scan your key cards.”

Mac glares at Dennis on the other side of the security gate.

“It’s alright, he doesn’t need to come through he’s only escorting me to-”

“I’m an undercover cop!” Mac blurts out.

“Ma—What are you doing?” Dennis hisses.

The woman puts her hands on her hips. “Alright then, you still won’t be able to go through without swiping your ID.”

Dennis is shaking his head but Mac continues, determined not to be left behind, “I uh, I left it inside.”

“O, that’s what the terrorist said!” She chuckles, “No, no, I shouldn’t joke about that. I’m sure you’re not a terrorist, but you know, protocol is protocol. I’m going to have to run your fingerprint out back. Good thing there’s always a backup, eh?”

She reaches up to put her bony hand on Mac’s shoulder and begins to steer him toward a back office door. She takes him passed a security camera room, and then sits Mac down on a table in a room filled with various old looking technology spilling out of boxes. She struggles to pick up a huge box and drops it on the table with a slam. She grimaces, then begins to unpack the equipment inside.

Mac feels like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in an unpredictable situation and completely petrified about what could happen next. The woman is telling him something in an excited voice, but Mac can’t listen to her, convinced that he’s a sitting duck waiting to go to prison. The woman squats on the ground to plug in a cord and at the very moment that Mac is seriously contemplating getting up and knocking her out to make his escape, there’s a massive power surge in the building. All lights power down for a few seconds, then flicker back on again.

“O dear me, that really had me going there for a second,” The woman says, standing up again, “Fancy there be an accident outside the building and all the superior officers leave me alone. Anyway, let’s get your finger on the scanner, and we can all get back to business.”

Mac stares at the machine in front of him.

“Come on now, it won’t bite.”

He glances at her, his hand shaking as he raises his forefinger to the finger shaped tray. He winces his eyes shut as his finger pad rests on the cool metal, a terrible sickness growing solid inside of him knowing that he’s freely signing himself up for prison.

The machine makes a beep and Mac yanks his finger away from the machine, throwing his face in his hands.

“Alrighty then, Officer Hunt – golly, [Hollywood](http://68.media.tumblr.com/5b9033cf43bbfd1d46e7fa86b8f73403/tumblr_opf21gv4UN1vifzjto4_400.gif), you’re a long way from home, aren’t you? And don’t you look handsome with that moustache gone? You look a lot less like a pedophile!”

Mac wrenches his face out of his hands and barks, “That’s some homophobic bullshit! I’m no pedophile just because I'm gay!

“Oop, sorry, I know I’m not meant to say that, but it’s the moustache, eh?”

She taps the screen and Mac glares at the pixelated picture displayed. The image is small but it looks enough like himself for him to wonder if God had made a miracle occur.

“That… WORKED?” Mac asks incredulously.

“Yep,” the woman grins, “It’s a wonder, isn’t it? What’s the use of upgrading when the old tech works just fine. Alright, sorry for holding you up there officer, better safe than sorry.”

She shuffles him out of the room and into the security camera room, leaving Mac to blink at the deserted spaces on the screens. He searches through every screen looking for signs of Dennis knowing that Dennis wouldn’t have waited for him, but the only people he sees are himself and the lady in the very room they’re in. On the screen, he watches the lady pull open a drawer and hand him a key card. He turns around and takes it, dumbly staring at the white piece of plastic in his hand.

“Make sure you drop this off when you get yours back, alright? It’s not going to be easy for either of us otherwise.” She winks at him, then catches sight of the security cameras. “O, would you look at that? The power cut must have reset the cameras! I’ll have to get the boys to look over it when they come back from ogling at whatever commotion is going on outside... Are you sure there isn’t anything you can tell me?”

Mac wishes he could say something badass like ‘ _It’s classified_ ’, but his mind is still lagging behind, trying to make sense of how he just got out of that jam. The lady mistakes his silence for an answer, and resignedly leads him back out to the foyer. There, Mac spots Dennis in front of an elevator beyond the security gates. Dennis sees them and marches over to the gates.

“The elevator isn’t working!” He says angrily.

“Did you do the retina scan?” The woman asks as she sits down at her desk again.

Mac swipes the temporary key card and passes through the gate.

“Dennis!” He hisses.

“Shut up, dude,” Dennis hisses back, then he tells the woman, “Why on earth would an elevator only work with a retina scan? Who the hell designed this place?”

“It’s a mandatory security measure, sir,” She says, sounding slightly confused.

“Dude, something _insane_ just happened,” Mac says, tugging on Dennis’ arm.

Dennis brushes him off and continues to berate the lady. “I already scanned my ID, I shouldn’t need to perform another test!”

“I’m afraid that if you want to make use of the elevator, you’ll need to scan your eyes…”

Dennis raises his hands. “Alright, fine, I’ll do it again.”

He marches over to the elevator, Mac following closely behind, and positions his face in front of the scanner. Red lasers shoot out toward Dennis’ eyes but Mac doesn’t get to see what happens next because the building powers down again. When the lights come back on, Dennis is standing beside the elevator with his arms crossed.

“O dear me! There’s something terribly wrong!” The woman cries. She picks up her telephone and helplessly stabs the buttons, only to hang it up again. “There just _has_ to be a crisis right outside our doors the second I need help! I _told_ them I can’t do this on my own!”

“You bitch! This is a waste of my time!” Dennis shouts, “We have urgent information for uh, god damn it! What were their names? Salt and pepper?”

“O you want filing? Pepper and Budge are on level five… No, no, no! My computer is restarting and I didn’t save my game!”

“You’re telling me I have to climb _five_ flights of stairs because of this poorly designed building?” Dennis yells.

He punches open the stairwell door and Mac chases in after him, catching Dennis by the arm on the second step.

“Dennis, wait!” Mac pleads. The door behind them slams shut, the noise echoing up the stairwell. “I think I am actually a vampire!”

Dennis snatches his arm away from Mac and smirks at him. “No, you’re not.”

Mac shakes his head. “The lady took me to scan my fingerprint and it worked somehow! And you broke the eye thing because of your vampire invincibility! Don’t you think that’s connected?!”

Dennis eyes him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“THERE’S SOME DUDE WHO LOOKS JUST LIKE ME WHO-AH! Why did you slap me?!”

“Shut up, you’re being crazy,” Dennis hushes him, patting his palms over Mac’s cheeks.

“This IS crazy!” Mac insists, wide eyed. “The _only_ way that this makes sense is that I must be a vampire too!”

“Trust me,” Dennis coos, “You’re not. I can tell.”

He pats his hands down Mac’s cheeks and then holds him still, maintaining eye contact. Sirens from outside sound closer than before. Blue and red lights dance through the black windows in the stairwell, painting the space murky. Mac goes to protest his case further but Dennis seizes him, his eyes going fiercely wide, brows lifting, lips close to Mac’s. They’ve bluffed their themselves this far, they can’t turn back.

“Listen to me very carefully. Those cops out there? They’re just getting over the initial shock of, uh, whatever is outside. There’s only a matter of _minutes_ before this place is SWARMING. There’s a very obvious explanation for this. You’re an average looking guy so I’m sure it’s fairly easy for you to have a lookalike that this dumb bitch mistook you for.”

“You’re not listening to _me_ ,” Mac insists but he doesn’t try to slip out of Dennis’ hold, “It was a _fingerprint_ scanner. It means that there’s another me somewh-AH-oh, I thought you were going to slap me again.”

Instead, Dennis tilts his head and runs the sharp point of his popped out fangs along Mac’s neck.

“We’re doing so well, baby,” Dennis coos against Mac’s neck, “Who knew infiltrating the FBI could be so easy…” He then turns his palm to Mac’s temple and pushes his head to one side, his hot breath skating along Mac’s skin.

Mac's previous concern dissolves and he leans into Dennis' touch. “Dennis, let's...”

Dennis growls before Mac can finish his sentence and shoves him away. “Just move passed it, Mac!” He starts stomping up the stairs. “And quit causing setbacks. We need to get on with it while no one suspects us.”


	39. Fargo (Side B)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references to The Gang Goes On Family Fight (in which Keegan-Michael Key stars as the game show host, Grant Anderson, and as Bill Budge in Fargo. Yay for more actor crossover appearances!)
> 
> A quick run down for Pepper & Budge - essentially they are two FBI agents who have been taken off case duty and put in charge of the filing room because they were literally sitting in their car eating lunch while Lorne Malvo got a machine gun out of his coat literally in front of their car then proceeded to go inside an office in Fargo and murder everyone inside it. The joke is that Pepper & Budge were so wrapped up in their bickering conversation that they didn't notice what was going on until Malvo threw a body out of the top story window.
> 
> images of Bill Budge/Grant Anderson [here](http://macdenmarco.tumblr.com/post/162884289235).

“That’s the second blackout; do you think we should, uh, check it out?”

“Don’t bother. We don’t want to annoy anyone by asking questions now.”

“You realize that… the reason why we’re on filing duty is because we didn’t ask _enough_ questions.”

“No, we asked questions at the wrong _time_ , and _didn’t_ when it mattered…”

The two lay on the floor in silence for a long time. Budge sits up to pull a tennis ball out of a drawer and lays back down again. He tosses it in the air, catching the ball against his chest and says, “Pepper.”

“Bill,” Pepper says, waiting for the tennis ball to be thrown back to him.

“No,” Budge replies, holding onto the ball, “For this to work, you have to call me by my surname. You can’t let me surname _you_ and then first-name _me_.”

Pepper sighs. “Just pass me the ball.”

“Pepper,” Budge prompts.

Pepper sighs again. “Budge.”

Budge throws the ball. “Name an animal that we eat, but doesn’t eat us.”

“Why?”

“Come on, entertain me.”

“Alright,” Pepper says, passing the ball back, “Almost all animals eat us in one way or another. Our waste gets consumed by bugs, which get consumed by bigger and bigger prey, cycling through to the prey we eat. Heck, vultures eat decomposing bodies!”

Budge catches the ball. “Okay but have you ever heard of anyone eating vultures? Didn’t think so. Try and be more specific. Name the 8 most popular answers as voted by the general public.”

“This sounds like a game show,” Pepper says, catching the ball when Budge throws it to him.

Budge nods. “I was undercover as a host on the final run of Family Fight.”

“Why on Earth were you undercover as a _game show_ host?”

“I was trying to expose a gun trade scheme happening back stage. Come on,” Budge tosses the ball to himself, “The clock is ticking.”

Pepper thinks for a moment. “It’s a long time ago… I’m sure the public’s opinions have changed since then.”

“Which animals eat humans isn’t exactly a trend that changes in a decade,” Budge pounts out. He gets up to collect the ball that Pepper had thrown poorly, then lays back down on the linoleum and throws the ball back to his co-worker. “I want to see if you can get all 8 answers. Give it a shot.”

Pepper paws the ball between his hands as he thinks aloud. “Well we’ve got the obvious three – pig, chicken and cow.”

“That’s three out of eight animals that we eat, but don’t eat us,” Budge says, motioning his hand for Pepper to pass the ball back, “Keep going.”

“You’re doing the game show host thing, aren’t you?” Pepper keeps tossing the ball between his hands.

“Three guesses in and you’re ready to give up?”

“No, I got this… People also eat… Buffalo. And… some people eat dogs.”

“Five of eight, come on, they’re all land animals. Think bigger.”

“You’re right. We eat whales. Or does that come under the fish category?”

“It’s a separate category,” Budge clarifies, “So that’s seven out of eight. You’ll never guess the eighth. And no, it’s not vultures.”

Pepper throws the ball to Budge and frowns. “If whale is an exception to the collective rule-”

“Well they’re a different category because they’re mammals,” Budge interrupts.

“And fish aren’t?”

Budge returns the ball to Pepper. “No, most fish are cold blooded.”

“ _Most_ fish… Right, so there’s some kind of catch in the exception. Is the last answer shark?”

Budge grins. “Nope, sharks can eat people.”

“Alright… think bigger Webb,” Pepper says to himself, then catches Budge’s throw. “Or _smaller_ … how about oysters… or sea urchins?”

Budge sits up suddenly. “ _Sea urchins_?! That’s not – oh?”

A man in a high turtle neck stands beside another man dressed in a polo shirt with a tie. The turtleneck has his arms crossed and tuts.

“Dragon,” states the man in the polo shirt.

Budge gets to his feet and brushes off his uniform. “Pardon?”

The man in the polo lifts his chin and folds his arms over his chest, accentuating his arm muscles. “The answer to your question is ‘Dragon’.”

Pepper tosses the ball in the air and catches it. “That _can’t_ be the answer.”

Budge narrows his eyes at the two men standing before him. Something about them seems off, and it’s not their strange choice of work wear. “That _is_ the answer.”

“What?!” Pepper scrambles to his feet. “Come on, how was I meant to guess that?”

The man in the polo juts out his chin further. “It’s a common misconception that dragons eat humans. Dragons actually eat gold and treasure, that’s why they’re always sitting on a big pile of it.”

Pepper grimaces and shakes his head. “That’s-”

“Come on, you don’t actually believe that do you?” the man in the turtleneck says.

Budge eyes them both. There’s something about them that look familiar but Budge can’t pick it just yet. He requests their IDs. The man in the turtleneck nods at the man in the polo shirt, who flashes a completely blank card and pockets it quickly.

“Right, uh, which department are you from?” Budge questions.

“From… the… uh, department of… whatchamacallit...”

The man in the turtleneck rolls his eyes and says, “We helped you, now you help us.”

Budge glances at Pepper, then back at the two men. “You’re not FBI, are you?”

The man in the turtleneck ignores him. “You have information that we need.”

The man in the polo shirt spreads his palm across the counter and flexes his arm to accompany his friend’s attempt at looking menacing.

Pepper asks, “How did you get in here? The filing room is a restricted area.”

The man in the polo grins. “Tell me what you know about… shit… what was his name again?”

The man in the turtleneck frowns deeply. “What do you know about a man named Frank Peterson?”

Pepper and Budge share a look.

“The Syndicate file…” Pepper says quietly.

Budge turns away from Pepper and squints at the two men on the other side of the counter. “What do _you_ know about him?”

“What do we know?” The man in the turtleneck scoffs, “We know that he _massacred_ an office full of people and that _you_ stood by and watched.”

Budge raps the counter with his fingers. “Look, we didn’t _watch_ -”

“We didn’t _see_ anything,” Pepper insists.

“You know where he is!” The guy in the polo says, slamming his fist on the counter, “I bet you have him holed up in an interrogation room somewhere right now!”

Pepper holds up his hands. “Hey now, the Syndicate case is cold, gentlemen. There has been no activity under any known pseudonyms for months.”

The man in the turtleneck creeps closer to the counter, his chest lifting as if he’s about to leap over the counter and he says, “There’s something you’re not telling us. I DEMAND you tell us everything that you know!”

“We told you and Molly Solverson, Lorne Malvo has practically fallen off the face of the earth,” Pepper says, his hands still raised.

The man in the turtleneck curses, running a hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”

Pepper and Budge both nod.

“Pepper,” Budge says.

“Budge,” Pepper says.

“Call security.”

“Already on it,” Pepper says, picking up the phone.

An alarm buzzes loudly and the man in the turtleneck instantly buckles down, covering his ears with his hands.

“Aghh,” he squeaks. He grips onto the edge of the counter and pulls himself up.

Budge frowns. “Pepper.”

“Budge.”

“Press the button again.”

“I’m sure they’re on their way.”

Budge squints at the man in the turtleneck. He leans over Pepper and hits the security call button once more, causing the man to sink to the ground again, wincing in pain. That’s when Budge remembers who these two guys are. How could he recall the ridiculous pool of answers from the random poll but forget the _contestants_ of the [Family Fight finale](http://68.media.tumblr.com/1604e228349b9c814257d51433456d8d/tumblr_osygapmGAr1vutocdo2_1280.jpg), featuring _the_ most dysfunctional family he’s ever seen. It was thanks to the antics of the Reynolds family that he almost blew his cover due to sheer frustration.

He leans over Pepper again and holds down the security button.

“Make it stop!” Dennis Reynolds squeaks, “I don’t like that noise.”

Pepper waves Budge’s hand away. “He has a point.”

Budge starts to laugh maniacally. “Pepper, you will never believe this. These two guys, these two guys _right here_ were on the show!”

Pepper blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“Dennis, let’s go,” Mac Reynolds says, trying to yank Dennis off the ground.

“You both better forget we were ever here!” Dennis howls before being escorted away by his relative.

Budge doubles over, clutching his stomach as he laughs. He falls back on the floor, the ceiling foaming into sight. He laughs and laughs, until he can’t remember what was so funny except that the small holes punctured into the cheap ceiling tiles look like the pockmarks on his face.

“Hey Bill?”

Budge frowns.

“Budge?”

“Pepper?”

“What was the answer?”

“The answer to what?”

“… I can’t remember.”

“Neither can I…”


	40. Red Rain (If there’s a sin, then there’s a sinner too)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from The White Stripes song. 
> 
> Beta'd by the forever wonderful lornemalvoofficial <3

Police cars screech down the streets, sirens spinning through the gaps in the sliding doors. Dennis slides into the vinyl seat and pushes Mac’s plate of food toward him, leaving his own in the centre of the table. He sits back and observes Mac gripping the edge of the table, his lips pursed into a knot.

“We should get out of town ASAP, bro,” Mac says.

“You were the one who complained about almost starving to death,” Dennis tuts.

Another siren clocks through the Arby’s diner. Some people turn to the windows;blue and red lights dance across their faces. Mac joins his hands around his wrists and wrings them.

“Calm down, no one is after us. Remember how there were was something going on outside the building? It’s definitely just that,” Dennis replies. He taps the edge of the plate in front of Mac. “Eat.”

Mac nods and brings the burger to his mouth; Dennis watches with disdain as he sinks his teeth into it, and sauce squelches and dribbles all over Mac’s fingers. The burger has a certain odour to it which unsettles Dennis, accompanied by the disgusting appearance of the Arby’s employees. He told the manager that it wouldn’t kill them to fire that runt of a man still dumping his stomach on the tables as he wipes them, or to hire a girl who is easy on the eyes at the counter. Clearly they don’t know how to run a business, and aren’t wise enough to adhere to advice when freely provided.

It’s not worth punishing them for their ignorance, but it bothers Dennis that he likely wouldn’t be able to finish the job on his own even if he tried. If he was going to take down everyone in this pitiful establishment, he’d need Mac to help trap the sheep. He draws his gaze away from the ketchup trickling down Mac’s arm and observes a group of teenaged boys squashed into a booth, arms draped over girls. An amalgamation of bright sports jerseys, shiny hair and youthful soft skin all couched by the vibrant red of the booth cushions.

If it was just those kids outside of the Arby’s, walking home in the night, he could take them. He could suck the life right out of them. He wouldn’t get younger; that’s unfortunately not how it works, although he’s not particularly worried about getting any older, because he’s never looked so good. He’ll forever be in his prime, perhaps the only good thing to come out of this whole monstrous situation. Mac, on the other hand, is aging visibly. Flecks of grey crop up in Mac’s facial hair when he lets it go. Wrinkles steepen along the folds beside his eyes and down his neck, skin loosening around his hands and in other areas Dennis is not eager to inspect, but where he has further suspicions of increasing unattractiveness. If Mac gets any uglier, he probably won’t be worth turning even if Dennis is only doing it to test the limits of vampirism on Mac. 

“I should have killed those cops.”

Mac drops the burger on the plate and splutters food out of his mouth when he replies, “KILL?!”

A moment of hushed quiet spikes through the atmosphere of the Arby’s when customers halt the conversation and turn around looking for the source of the upset.

Dennis leans forward and whispers, “If they hadn’t sounded that alarm, my sheer presence would most definitely have been successfully threatening to get the answers we need.” He sits up and crosses his arms smugly. “Just think, we walked straight into the FBI like total amateurs. Imagine how far we can get if we actually  _ try _ .”

Mac frowns. He collects the toppings which had spilled out over the plate, shoving them back between the buns. He takes another huge bite before making his reply. “Yeah, we totally could have roughed them up,” he says, lifting his eyes to Dennis, “But we wouldn’t have killed them…”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “Of course  _ you _ wouldn’t have, but  _ I _ could have. That noise…” He flinches. “Next time, something like that won’t trigger me and we can get the information we need without any hiccups.”

Mac chews as he repeats Dennis’ words. “Next time…”

Dennis pulls out a napkin from the dispenser and spreads it out on the table. He grabs a knife and draws an indecipherable map through the material of the napkin. “Now that we know a little bit about the layout of the building, we can plan our entrance and exit route better. I’ll of course have to obtain another ID because-”

“That’s a great plan and all Dennis, but I’m going back to Paddy’s so I don’t lose my job.”

“No you’re not.”

Mac devours the last of his burger and says, “Yeah, Charlie said I had like, two days and I know that really means four days but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“No,” Dennis says adamantly, “You’re not allowed.”

Mac grabs the napkin Dennis had spread out on the table and uses it to wipe his face. “Dude, you realize Charlie is going to fire me.”

Dennis slams the table with his palm. “Screw your stupid job! Once you become immortal you won’t need one!”

Mac frowns as he pulls himself out of the booth. “But if I’m immortal, doesn’t that mean I’ll always need a job? How am I going to live forever on nothing? It literally makes no sense Dennis.”

“Wha-? When you’re immortal, you don’t  _ need _ the stuff that humans need to live. It’s  _ so  _ simple, Mac,” Dennis says, pinching his fingers together, “You don’t need food or water, and if you want something else you don’t buy it, you just  _ take _ it. You don’t need a  _ dime _ to get by.”

“Oh, is that why you needed me to buy your meal for you?”

“ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO A WORD I AM SAYING?! I DON’T NEED FOOD TO SURVIVE.”

“Right, so why did you make me buy you a salad then?”

“So I could look normal!”

“This is what I’m saying; it makes no sense.”

Mac lifts his eyebrows and walks out of the diner. Dennis leaps out of his seat and starts to chase Mac down, but Mac picks up his speed and bolts down the sidewalk, yanking Dee’s car keys out of his pocket as he runs. Dennis barrels towards Mac and lunges, tackling him to the ground; they roll together into a side alleyway. Dennis claws Mac’s shoulder and yanks him up against the brick wall, his other hand caging around him and his knee clocking into his thigh. Mac juts his chin out. He smells poignantly of cheap ketchup. Dennis rakes his eyes over Mac’s grimacing, wrinkled face, and spots claw marks reddening on Mac’s neck. A weird, electrifying energy swells between them, prompting Dennis to let go.

Mac slumps on the wall, wipes the back of his hand over his lips. Dennis starts to pace. The gate to the back of the Arby’s lies open in the night. In the winter, Dennis had huddled near the heat exhaust and traded his warm fur coat for information from that goblin of a man. He kicks a trash can; rats scamper down the alleyway, their tiny feet splashing through the dirty water puddling over the concrete, reflecting the store’s neon signage.

“There has to be some trace of the asshole who ruined my life,” Dennis fumes.

“The FBI would know if there was…”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Dennis huffs.

“They said the case was cold!” Mac protests.

Dennis ignores him. “I have a plan, Mac. We’re going to wait for those two idiots to leave the building; then we’re going to corner them and demand answers. You hold the thin one down while I,” Dennis pauses for dramatic effect as he ejects his fangs, “Suck the blood out of the fat one and see if they have something to say then.”

“Dennis…” Mac falters, “I can’t do that…”

“Come on,” Dennis says coyly, “You know how much I love it when you rough people up.”

Mac wrings his wrists again. “We can’t  _ kill _ anyone.”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “This is our  _ world _ now, Mac.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone… It’s bad…”

“It’s bad _ ass _ .”

“Murder is a sin.”

“Really, Mac?” Dennis scoffs, his tongue rolling over one sharp end of his teeth, “You’re really talking to me about sin?” He sighs and retracts his fangs, “Come on, baby; I can’t do this without you.”

Mac squints. “I’ll beat them up, but no-”

“It’s  _ fine _ ! Clearly you don’t want to help me. I’ll do it on my own!” Dennis spits, turning to stomp toward the street.

“No, Dennis, wait!” Mac darts forward and holds Dennis back with a palm on his chest.

Dennis steps back and holds up his hands. “I get it, Mac. I ask you to do one thing and you won’t-”

The next thing Dennis knows, Mac’s thrown a solid punch to his face.

“What the shit?” Dennis breathes. He glares at the damp ground beneath him, a vision of Mac’s capillary veins throbbing behind him. 

Mac shakes his head. “You’re not listening to  _ me _ , Dennis. I need to get back to work.”

“Wha-- you just punched me!” Dennis retorts, scowling venomously at his friend.

Mac rubs his knuckles and shrugs. “You slapped me before.”

“That’s because you were freaking out during a time of urgency! Oh, but I get it,” Dennis begins, his cheek still smarting, “What you’re essentially demonstrating to me is that you’ll punch me, your best friend, but you won’t punch those FBI agents. The hypocrisy is unbelievable.”

“I don’t see what the problem is here,” Mac replies blankly. 

Dennis nurses his cheek, his nose flaring. “The  _ problem _ , Mac, is that we don’t have enough  _ information _ . We-- wait, didn’t you say that you were here when the massacre happened?”

Mac narrowed his eyes. “…Yeah.”

“What were you doing at the time? Did anyone else talk about it? Do you know anyone we could talk to who may know something?”

“I don’t know  _ anything _ Dennis!” Mac cries, throwing his arms in the air. “The only reason I was here was because of your stupid dead body, and the days I was stranded here I spent in the only gay club in this dumb gigantic city. I didn’t give a shit about those people who died in the office! You really think I would be talking to people about that when my best friend had just been shot to pieces?!”

“Right, you were so devastated that you went to a gay bar; I’d expect nothing less from you. It’s like all you want to do is…” Dennis pauses, taking a long heavy look at Mac, practically glowing molten under the red sky. ”… Be gay.”

“No,” Mac says, “All I want is to get back to Philly so I can be the Sheriff of Paddy’s.”

“Shut up about that, dude! It’s not like you’re heir to the throne!” Dennis yells, “I don’t want to hear another word about your ridiculous joke of a job!”

Mac grimaces when Dennis pushes his face in close.

“I need you, Mac.”

Mac swallows. “Yeah.”

Dennis can feel the heat coming off Mac’s body, foreheads close together, noses almost touching, and when Mac licks his dry lips, his tongue almost flicks against Dennis’ lips. Hunger spikes in Dennis’ stomach and he snarls, pulling back as quickly as he can and putting considerable distance between them.

“New plan. What we’re going to do is… we’re going to go to Duluth. You’re going to talk to the cops there for me, and don’t worry, they’re small town cops. They’re going to be far more lenient in sharing information than the FBI.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because they think I’m dead.”

“Right. And then once they tell us everything, I can, uh…” Mac chokes.

“Of course,” Dennis says flatly. 

Mac nods solemnly. He starts to head out toward the footpath again but stops and holds his hand up in the air. “Just to be clear, I’ll be driving.”

Dennis groans. “You’re going to have to because it’s almost sunrise.” At that, Mac lowers his hand, nodding more firmly. Before he can say anything sneaky, Dennis interrupts him. “We’re driving to Duluth. Got it?”

“Sure…”

 

 

If Mac talks about ‘going back’ one more time… seriously, the minute he finds Frank Peterson or Lorne Malvo or whatever the hell he’s going by, Dennis will force him to turn Mac and after that, there’ll definitely be no ‘going back’ to Paddy’s. The only reason they would even ‘go back’ to Philly would be to pass through in order to get to the Jersey Shore, where they will take over the most luxurious private estate. Inside a home destined for a king, he will be able to direct Mac and discover the extremities of their soon to be shared affliction. To think that Mac really believes he’ll be once again fronting Paddy’s as the ‘Sheriff’, or whatever fake job he thinks he’s doing, is honestly laughable. Doesn’t he see what’s really going on here?

Dennis’ smug smile gets wiped clean off his face when the car screeches to a sudden stop, tossing his body in the trunk of the car into any and every corner available. He swears loudly, the momentum now pulling to the left, Mac apparently slamming his foot on the accelerator in the opposite direction than before. With the speed picking up, he is able to pull himself onto his side again, a position which gets upset once again when Mac sends the car sliding , tires burning hot against the road.  

Dennis grunts as he gets squashed into one corner, struggling to slide his phone out of his pocket against yet another of the car’s swinging motions. When he has a firm hold of his phone, he dials Mac’s number. Mac answers quickly, but before he can say anything, Dennis screams at him.

“WHAT are you doing?!”

“There are cop checkpoints on the exit routes! SHIT!!!”

“Oh, what now?” Dennis moans, before being knocked to the other side of the boot as Mac swerves.

“GOD DAMN IT MAC! ARE YOU TRYING TO HURT ME?!”

“There are cops EVERYWHERE!” Mac shouts.

Dennis sighs. “Just stop what you’re doing! You can’t drive around like an idiot; the cops are going to think you’re running away from them!”

“THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING!”

Dennis doesn’t get a chance to protest any further because a second later, the level road beneath the car drops out to uneven ground, the tires bumping up and down, the whole car shuddering, rocks tossing up beneath the frame and kicking against hot spinning rubber.

“I’M GOING OFF ROAD, DUDE!”

“MAC!” Dennis hisses, “You’re going to make us look suspicious!”

Either Mac doesn’t hear him or he’s choosing to ignore Dennis because seconds later, the bottom of the car falls out. The trunk lifts for a moment, imparting a strip of sunlight on Dennis’ arm and instantly singing him. The wheels slam against the rise in a ditch, which whacks the trunk shut again, jostling Dennis over and over as Mac continues to take Dee’s shitty car over rough ground. It goes on like this for a disastrously long time: the loudness of the city falls away behind him, the sirens reduce and every so often the trunk pops open again and the hot laser bursts upon parts of his body.

After a while, all Dennis can hear is the rumble of the car over the dirt, the engine coughing out dust. It seems like Mac has finally adhered to Dennis’ expletive-ridden advice when the tires start spinning on even ground again.

“Where are we?” Dennis asks, his throat choking on the excess dust having billowed into the trunk.

“Yeah, uh, we’re on a road.”

“Which. Road?”

“I don’t know.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh man, Dennis, you should have seen me! I was in a legit car chase! Tires were spinning, dust was going up and shit! Oh and they were  _ totally  _ shooting at me and I didn’t get hit  _ once _ . I’m no longer just a badass, I’m a badass  _ outlaw _ !”

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose. “God damn it Mac, what was the last actual road you were on?”

There’s a pause. “The I-94-E.”

“THE-“ Dennis clenches his fist, “That’s the entirely wrong way, dude.”

“I mean there’s more than one way to Duluth, Dennis. This just happens to be a  _ longer _ w-“

“MAC I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL GET OUT OF THIS CAR AND KILL YOU IF YOU’RE TRYING TO LIE YOUR WAY BACK TO PHILLY!”

Suddenly the car jolts and smashes Dennis against the back of the trunk. The lid pops slightly, shooting a blast of hot sun across Dennis’ face.

“GOD DAMN IT MAC YOU’RE DRIVING LIKE AN IDIOT!”

His phone call ends on its own. Inertia arrests Dennis in a fixed, awkward position as the car tumbles, metal creasing and bending at sharp angles. The sound of steam ejecting from a small hole overlays Mac’s attempts to talk to Dennis over the phone.

“Dennis – agh! – there’s something…” Mac stammers so quietly that Dennis barely hears it at all.

“MAC WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Dennis bellows, “I TOLD YOU I AM GOING TO KILL YOU IF THIS CAR STOPS ANYWHERE SHORTER THAN DULUTH!”

He waits for the car to move off again, shuddering in the hot trunk stinking of petrol, but the expelling steam sound persists and Mac won’t pick up his phone again for some reason.

“MAC??”

Then he catches a whiff of freshly spilt blood. A lot of it.

Dennis waits for Mac’s reply. Seconds seem like an eternity. The scent of his friend’s blood floats in front of his nose, then encircles him and binds him in enraptured thirst. He remembers the blood of the FBI agent he had stolen the ID card from, trickling down his throat. He’d had him in his entire and it had left him feeling so satisfied that the tension between him and Mac couldn’t have been that of predator and prey. Pulling Mac against the wall in the stairwell, FBI cameras staring emptily at them, riding on the glee of successful lies… his teeth on Mac’s neck, coaxing the blood to pump faster, to burn beyond boiling point if he turned his lips to Mac’s.

A beating heart beating slower. The steady stream of a fountain. Dennis inhales, then kicks the trunk open. The midday sun is the embodiment of hellfire. Rays of light spill out like liquid lava on his exposed skin, working like magnified light on the textiles of his clothes. He screams out in pain. White encompassing him. The scent of Mac’s blood flaring through his nostrils and driving him on.

He steps out, not knowing when his foot will connect with ground. Every step toward Mac’s body is like walking through a house on fire. Pockets of heat exploding on his bare face. The skin on his hands steaming right off. Blood pouring out of his veins as he arrives at Mac. A twisted body shaded by the frame of the banged up car. Dennis lowers himself beneath the thin sliver of shadow and blinks through red sheets to see him. Shards of glass splintered through his face. A pole through the windshield is skewered through his stomach. It smells like processed cheese and fats and Dennis isn’t hungry at all but they’re both losing a lot of blood. Dennis’ falling out of his veins over Mac, Mac’s gushing out over the interior of Dee’s car.

_ Don _ .

Dennis flinches, as if someone had pinched at his back. He stands up, whacking his head on the car door on the way, and looks around. Nothing but white.

_ Don Chumph. _

A growl like a wolf’s. He knows that voice.

He clenches his teeth. The voice sounds like it came from within. Like Dennis is talking to himself.

_ Come _ .

The pinch turns into a yank. Dennis yelps backward. He tries to move back to his dying friend but it’s like sifting his legs through wet cement to move forward, and like stepping on an escalator to move backward. The pull intensifies. His whole body going up in flames as he reluctantly falls into step. He screams internally. Externally. Crickets in the field laughing at him in their safe swarms. He swings his arms out to latch on to the car, pulls himself back into the trunk. Lid slammed shut. Blackness encompasses. The heart of his friend begins to race. And the pull of summoning wrenches Dennis’ helpless, melting body against the inside wall like a magnet. 

  
  


**End part 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so it's not much of an 'end' and rather the beginning of something much bigger... sorry (not sorry) to leave you all on a cliffhanger, but i'm working on the next arc and building up a bit more of a backlog before i start posting it. hang in there until then~~
> 
> (Also in the next section, more vampire related specifics will be clarified)


End file.
